


Love's Alchemy

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Bog as a teacher, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mages, Magic, Monsters, Princess - Freeform, Sex, Slow Burn, Spell work, Wizard, casting spells, cursing, demonic creatures, magic fights, student and teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: Bog, a mage, is forced to take the Princess Marianne as a student when it's discovered that she has some magical abilities she cannot control.





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Birusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birusa/gifts).



> This was inspired by the gorgeous artwork of http://iambirusa.tumblr.com/

The storm outside howled sounding for all the world like a wailing woman. Bog stood at the window watching the rain pouring down as he waited for his new student to arrive...a student he had taken on reluctantly. He drummed his long fingers on the window sill with a sneer on his lips before he turned around to face the inside of the room again. This room was Bog's private study, a place where he kept the most precious, and sometimes dangerous artifacts that he owned, and many of which that helped him in his study of magic. It was also the place where he kept his books that he considered too important to leave anywhere else. The room had a complicated set of wards that surrounded it, wards that only someone who was as skilled in magic as he could possibly stand a chance of breaking, which was why he considered it one of the safest places in the kingdom; no one could match his skill with magic. 

This room was his sanctuary from the rest of the world...from the pain of the outside. And now the world was coming to his doorstep in the form of a young princess he had to teach to control the gifts she was born with. Wonderful, he thought sarcastically. 

Out of the corner of his eye Bog saw the coach turn onto the road that led straight to the tower. The royal coach was being led by a team of pure white horses, though the travel and the rain made the animals look a little grey with brown, muddied legs. 

Bog rolled his eyes. The carriage was heavily ornate, a disgusting show of wealth as far as he was concerned. But ferrying the princess in that particular coach was a clear announcement to anyone who cared that one of the royal family was traveling here to his tower. Bog muttered under his breath. “Wonderful, now every villager from miles around will show up trying to get a peek at a princess. I hate princesses,” he snarled with feeling. The young woman was supposed to be arriving in secret...royalty really didn't understand the concept of being discreet. 

Bog rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. Might as well make sure everything was ready for his uninvited guest. 

* 

Downstairs, Bog's mother Griselda was humming softly. The tower had a large and well-stocked kitchen where his mother reigned supreme. Bog's household was small, consisting of his mother, Thang and Stuff, two of his only real friends that he had known since childhood. They were now married and served in the tower performing a multitude of daily tasks. There was also Brutus who took care of the few horses that Bog had stabled behind the tower, as well as the other livestock; a couple of cows, some chickens and a handful of geese. Everyone (except for Bog) was excited to have a new person coming to live in the tower. 

As Bog stepped into the kitchen, his mother grinned. “There's my boy!” 

“Mother...” Bog groaned. “How many times do I have to say...” 

“Pish posh Bog. It's just us! I promise not to call you “boy” when the princess gets here.” She grinned as she rolled out the dough she had been kneading. 

Bog sighed. “Speaking of princesses, I just saw her coach from the window in my study.” 

Griselda gasped. “Bog, go change!! You look a sight! You can't meet a princess looking like that!” 

Bog groaned. He was wearing a simply tunic and trousers, not too dissimilar from what the local peasants wore, though the cloth was of better quality. The only thing about his outfit that stated he was not a peasant were his boots, knee high leather boots with thick straps around his calves. They were enchanted to never wear down and to always fit like a glove. He wore his dark hair gathered at the nape of his neck and kept his face clean shaven. 

“What is wrong with how I'm dressed?” Bog groaned picking up a carrot from a nearby bowl and biting into it. 

His mother looked to the heavens for strength. “First, you don't look like the mage you are! You want to make a good impression on the princess, don't you?” 

Bog muttered under his breath, “I hate princesses.” 

“Bog,” his mother warned and then said, “second, you're to be her teacher. You should...well...look the part. Right now you look like you might be out in the field cutting corn stalks.” 

“Fine.” Bog grabbed another carrot and stomped back up the stairs to this bedroom to change. 

* 

Marianne glared out the window of her carriage watching the rain fall. She wasn't angry about going off to study; she actually welcomed this time away from home, away from Roland. 

She was still steaming about what had happened just before she left. Marianne pressed her hand to her chest, her heart still ached. 

Her fiance, the man she loved and the man who hurt her, Roland Knight's betrayal had squashed her hopes and dreams of a happy marriage, a life with love in it. Marianne turned away from watching the rain and closed her eyes rubbing the bridge of her nose as the memory of finding Roland in the arms of another woman reared its ugly head. She had been happy...the day of her wedding. The whole kingdom had turned out for the celebration. Marianne had been excited. She had wanted to see her prince charming before the ceremony, to give him a gift, one that she had crafted on her own, a symbol of her love, only to catch sight of him in the arms of another woman. On her wedding day! 

The pain had ripped through her, but once she had recovered she had made a vow to herself...never again would she give her heart away. She would never love again. 

Angrily, Marianne wiped the tears that threatened to spring to her eyes and let out a long sigh as she flopped back against the plush fabric of the seat. She wished her little sister was here with her. Dawn was good with meeting new people and always knew just what to say. Almost everyone instantly liked the youngest princess, but Marianne knew this was her journey and her journey alone. 

She sat up straight, taking a deep breath as she ran her fingers through her short hair and squared her shoulders. She had heard all sorts of rumors about this mage...Bog King. He was powerful and apparently hated everyone...he never took students. 

Perhaps the rumors about the mage Bog were overly...pessimistic? Maybe he was a nice old gentleman who just liked his solitude? 

Marianne wrinkled her nose with a sour thought. With the way her luck had been running, he was most likely an old man with a nasty temper and everything the rumors said about him would probably be true. 

This should be interesting, she thought to herself as she worried unconsciously at one of her fingers. 

* 

Carrying a wide umbrella, Thang and Stuff hurried outside as the carriage pulled up. Thang was a tiny man with big eyes and an ever bigger smile. He wasn't especially handsome, dressed in homespun clothing, stained here and there, with brown hair that seemed to always need combing out of his eyes. His whole face had a slightly “froggy” look about him, but his sweet personality made up for what he lacked in looks. Thang worked the grounds around the tower and helped with gathering herbs for Bog and for the kitchen. 

Stuff, dressed in a plain cotton dress, was much taller than Thang, a full figured strong woman. She handled the cleaning of the tower as well as any miscellaneous chores that needed doing for the master. She was a rough looking, but kind woman, though she looked as if she could hold her own in a fist fight. She was quite a bit taller than her husband Thang as she stood beside him under the umbrella watching the carriage pull around. 

* 

Bog watched from his window as the carriage finally pulled up to the tower. The rain had decided to stop with only a light drizzle of falling to the ground. Bog watching silently with his arms crossed over his chest. He could have cast a spell to hear them below, but he chose not to, simply watching. 

* 

Before Thang or the driver could open the door of the carriage, the door was flung open and a beautiful woman stepped out. Bog stiffened when he saw her. Unlike most royalty, her hair was cut short and wild. She wore a long dress of deep purple with a high collar that flowed with her neck, the collar a pale green that blended into the rest of the dress making it look as if she were wearing flower petals. The front of the dress was slit up the front to reveal that she wore tall laced boots and purple and gold leggings underneath. 

Bog couldn't help but stare. 

He gulped nervously turning away from the window. Why did she have to be beautiful? 

It didn't matter. Her beauty probably meant she was used to people falling all over themselves to please her...a beautiful princess who was used to men falling at her feet. 

Well Bog was not the type of man who fell in love with a pretty face. He had already experienced that...when a face so beautiful hid a heart that was dark and rotted. No, not again. He would never fall in love again...ever. 

* 

On the ground floor, Griselda hurried out and stopped short when she saw the young princess that was to be her son's student. Oh, she was pretty! And judging by the set of her shoulders and the line of her lips, she was not to be trifled with...not a nasty, demanding kind of line, but the firm press of lips of a woman who didn't put up with nonsense, who knew how to fight her own battles. Oh, this was going to be perfect! Griselda liked her already. 

Griselda walked forward. “Greetings, Your Highness!” 

The young woman turned around to see who had addressed her. For a moment an odd look passed over her face when she saw a diminutive older woman with a wild mane of frizzled auburn hair, small brown eyes and a huge smile approach her. Like everyone else, her clothing was simple and comfortable. 

“Bog?” Marianne asked, confusion clear in her voice. 

Griselda chuckled. “Oh no, but you're close. I'm his mother.” 

Marianne blushed. “Oh sorry, I'm Princess Marianne, but please just call me Marianne.” 

Griselda reached up taking both of her hands. Marianne was secretly amused that the wizard's mother did not curtsy, but rather took a more familiar stance in greeting her; anyone in the household of a wizard was probably accustomed to all sorts of important personages. “It's a pleasure, Marianne. Why don't you come in before the rain decides to pick up again and I will show you your rooms and take you around the tower before you meet my son.” 

Marianne smiled. “That would be lovely, just let me to my bags.” 

“Don't worry; Thang and Stuff here will get your things for you.” Griselda pointed out the two people that Marianne had seen when the carriage pulled up. She bowed her head in greeting. Thang dashed forward with a huge welcoming smile and a slight dip of his head. “I'm Thang! Actually I'm Thaddeus,” he added, “but everyone here calls me Thang.” 

Marianne smiled as she shook his hand...which was unusual for her (people were usually bowing at her which she had come to hate). “Marianne.” 

The tall woman stepped over and curtsied with a grace that surprised Marianne. She had to make certain not to judge these people by their appearance. “Stuff.” 

“Stuff and Thang...I'm assuming there is a very interesting story behind those nicknames.” Marianne chuckled. “I would love to hear the story sometime.” 

Thang started to open his mouth again, but Griselda put her hand up. “Later sweetie. I'm sure Marianne is tired from her trip.” 

Griselda motioned. “Follow me.” 

* 

The tower was surprisingly bright when Griselda led her inside. For some reason Marianne had pictured a dark, wet and uninviting place that smelled like mold and who knew what else, with a variety of creepy things laying about for decorations...like skulls and jars of pickled monster parts. Instead, the tower was bright, warm and welcoming. The stone walls were covered in thick tapestries depicting scenes of forests, meadows, mystical beasts, castles...beautiful scenes. Some even showed fairies dancing in flower filled meadows. Not at all what she was expecting. 

As they walked through, she noticed the central stairs of the tower. The winding staircase traveled through the center of the tower disappearing into nothingness above. For just a moment Marianne thought she saw a shadow at the turn of the stairs, but before she could take a closer look, Griselda was calling her. “This way princess, let's get you something to eat. Don't they feed you at the castle?” 

Marianne moved quickly to catch up. Griselda had led her to the back of the tower and into an inviting country-style kitchen. 

The kitchen was nice. Actually, Marianne thought, it was more than simply nice. The kitchen's walls were warm, colored a warm grey and a wide variety of herbs hung upside down along one wall drying giving the whole room a spicy, yet comforting smell, like walking through a wild meadow. Along another wall there were copper molds as well as pots and pans, sparkling clean though well-worn, hanging from racks suspended from the ceiling. A huge brick oven sat along one wall and along the other was a deep fireplace that was currently lit with a cheery fire. The fire inside it was not large, but enough to make the kitchen comfortable. In the center of the kitchen sat a long, polished wooden table around which were place a few stools. On the table was a large checked cloth that covered what looked to be a bowl and perhaps something on the table...biscuit dough Marianne guessed, familiar enough with kitchens in the palace to hazard such a guess. 

“Have a seat dear, let's get you something to eat before we get you settled in your room.” Griselda smiled. Marianne pressed her lips down on a laugh. She had never met anyone so unimpressed by her title to order her around. Marianne had to admit she was hungry after the long trip, so without protest she pulled a stool out and sat. 

“So, you're here to learn magic. I'm assuming you had some mishaps?” Griselda pulled open a wooden breadbox that held a large loaf of fresh baked bread. She set the bread on the table and then went to the icebox, pulling out a wooden bowl of butter with a knife sticking out of it and a glass jar that held something thick and orange inside. Maybe jam, the princess thought though she wasn't sure. 

The elder woman set the things on the table. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Oh yes, please.” Marianne smiled. Griselda nodded with a grin and walked over to an ancient looking kettle that sat by the stone sinks. She shook the kettle and grinned. 

“Oh good, still have some water from earlier. Let me heat it up and we'll have ourselves a nice cup of tea. Anything particular you would like princess? We have pretty much anything you'd like in regards to tea,” Griselda explained without being boastful. “Bog and I dry the herbs that we gather or Thang and Stuff bring us. Most of them go toward potions, which Bog makes but the rest are for cooking, tea... ” 

“Oh please call me Marianne!” Marianne laughed. “No though, I like pretty much anything.” 

Griselda nodded. “Well then, I have my own special blend you can try.” 

With a grin, Griselda reached up for a tin that sat on the back of one of the spice shelves. The tea was made with her own special blend of damiana and peppermint. Yes, yes she thought, a little soon to be trying to play match-maker, but this princess was the first woman to step into this tower in many, many years. Griselda didn't see any reason not to...fan the possible fires. Griselda's biggest fear and worry was that Bog, her only son, would die sad and alone. That no woman would get the chance to know that sweet, romantic man that lay beneath his hard, sharp exterior. He really was a very good man, just no one saw it but her and the others here at the tower. 

With a deep breath, Griselda set about making the tea, buttering the bread and spreading each slice of thick bread liberally with the jam. “You like apricots my dear?” the older woman asked as she set the small meal in front of Marianne. 

Marianne smiled with a nod. “I do.” 

“Then you will love my jam. I make everything here myself...no magic. I swear if I hadn't come here to help my boy out, all he would have eaten would have been the occasional bit of magically conjured food and nothing else. He is so thin, a mother worries.” 

Marianne sipped her tea, which was delicious. “So, Bog, the great mage is your son.” 

Griselda laughed nodding her head as she hopped up onto her stool. “Aye he is...and don't let him fool you. He looks grim and angry, but he really is a sweet man.” 

Marianne opened her mouth to ask another question when the room suddenly darkened noticeably. 

Marianne turned to see a tall, lean shadow standing in the doorway of the warm welcoming kitchen. For a moment she saw no face, only the hint of a figure that immediately made her think of grim reapers and ghosts of the forgotten dead. 

“That's enough mother.” 

The voice was cold, lacking any emotion. It was deep and if Marianne wasn't mistaken, there was a lilt to it, a slight accent that Marianne had noticed with Griselda but was more apparent with the wizard. 

The shadow seemed to glide into the room and stopped, just far enough away that Marianne could see him, but not touch him. 

Seeing him a little more clearly, Marianne could see that she was correct. He was tall, probably the tallest person Marianne had ever seen. As she jumped up from her stool and looked up, the shadows seemed to press around him, as if he were...hiding. But she saw that his hair was slicked back from his sharp, angular face. She couldn't be sure of the length, but she thought it might brush his shoulders. His features seemed to be cut from hard angles and sharp corners, all points, each point sharp as a knife's edge. His mouth was set in a grim line, a deep frown making the lines around his mouth stand out as if they had been etched in deeply with a chisel. He was not a traditionally handsome man, not like Roland had been, but there was something magnetic about him, something about him that immediately drew Marianne to him. He was darkly handsome... 

As her eyes wandered over his face, the feature that came as a shock to Marianne were his eyes. She had never seen eyes so beautiful as the mage Bog King's eyes. They were the blue of a clear spring day just as winter had fled, the bright promise of fresh beginnings and new life. The only thing that marred their color was a shadow...not a physical shadow...oh no, but Marianne could see an old pain lurking in the back of those beautiful eyes. 

“You are the Princess Marianne. Correct?” Bog stood still, his hands hidden within the long sleeves of his robe. 

“Yes I am.” Marianne stood straight. She would be damned if she was going to let him terrify her. 

Bog looked down his sharp nose at her. 

“I will never refer to you as princess,” he said evenly. “In these walls you are the student and I am the teacher. You will refer to me as Master King. Your lessons begin promptly at seven in the morning.” 

Bog turned to leave, but then stopped at the doorway speaking with his back to her. 

“I don't want you here any more than you want to be here, Marianne. But we both are under the direction of your father the king. I will make sure when you leave, you are the best mage you can possibly be.” 

With that, Bog swept out of the room taking the cold and shadows with him 

Marianne stood there for a long minute before she seemed to collapse and take her stool again. 

Griselda sighed. “He is very prickly, easy to anger and constantly in a bad mood, but his bark is worse than his bite, I promise you Marianne.” The older woman's tone was reassuring in light of Marianne's first encounter with the tall, dark mage. 

Marianne glanced back the way Bog had retreated. “He doesn't scare me....much.” 

The two women shared a laugh returning to their meal. 

* 

Marianne's room was on the second floor of the tower. It was a beautifully decorated room in lavenders, deep plums, and soft whites. It made Marianne think of being embraced in the petals of a large flower. When Griselda showed her to her room, her bags were already there and waiting for her. 

“I hope you like the decor—picked it out myself.” The older woman smiled when she threw the heavy wooden doors of the room open. 

Marianne was not just pleased, but a little impressed. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but this had not been it at all. 

“Thank you so much Griselda! It's beautiful!” 

Griselda smiled. “Well, you make yourself comfortable. Don't worry about a thing today, just get to know your new home and know that you won't have to deal with him today.” 

Marianne returned Griselda's smile and said, “Thank you.” 

The older woman grinned and waved her off. “See you at dinner.” 

* 

Late in the afternoon as the sun was beginning to make its decent and the rain had completely stopped, Bog stood at his window where he could see Marianne outside in the small garden where his mother grew a few vegetables. She was speaking with Thang who was out there weeding the garden for his mother when there was a knock at his door. 

“Enter.” Bog's voice was low and gruff. 

“I brought you some tea sweetheart.” Griselda came into the room carrying a tray with a pot of hot tea and some biscuits. “Are you coming down for dinner tonight?” 

Bog turned from the window. “No.” 

Griselda sighed. “Bog, you should come down and introduce yourself.” 

“I did.” Bog walked over taking the tray from his mother and setting it on the heavy wood desk that occupied one corner of the room. 

“Coming down to the kitchen and trying to scare her is not an introduction.” Bog's mother put her hands on her hips and glared at her son. 

Bog shrugged sitting down at his desk and picking up the pot of tea. “Mam, I don't want her here. I don't want a student.” 

Griselda moved some books from a small chair in the corner and started to scoot it over. Bog raised his hand and with a slight moved of his long elegant fingers the chair lifted itself off the ground and set itself down on the opposite side of his desk. 

Griselda smiled and sat. “You don't have a choice,” she said with a slight shrug of her little shoulders. “She is the king's daughter and she needs training. You are the most skilled mage anywhere, and you have been chosen to teach her. It will be good for you, get you to talk to someone besides just Stuff, Thang, Brutus and me...and who knows...” 

Bog scowled at his mother. “Don't you dare think that you are going to get me to fall in love with her. I don't believe in love, you know that, and ignoring the fact that she is a royal.” 

His mam opened her mouth, but Bog held up a warning finger. “And not a word about the love potion.” 

Griselda snapped her jaw shut with a sigh. 

“Fine, but Bog dear, please do your best to be nice....can you at least try to be nice? For your mother?” Griselda gave her son a pleading look. 

Bog sighed. “Fine. I will try.”


	2. Practice Makes Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Usagi1988 for the fire idea!

Marianne groaned when she heard the sound of banging outside her door. For a moment she forgot where she was and started to yell at her little sister Dawn to go away when her trip and arriving at the tower suddenly flooded back to her. She opened her eyes to see that the sun had just started to filter in through the window's curtains. She grumbled, pulling the covers back over her head only to hear the banging again. 

“Time to get up!!” 

The too-merry voice belonged to Griselda. Marianne muttered pulling herself out of the warmth of her bed and plodded over to open the door. Griselda stood there, her wild hair piled on top of her head resembling an explosion of red frizzle curls. With her, she carried a tray loaded with covered plates and the warm, delicious smell of tea. 

“I brought your breakfast, dear.” Griselda smiled using the tray and her hip to push herself into the room. Marianne rubbed her eyes as she moved aside and watched the older woman walk into her room and place the tray down on a small table by the window. Marianne's stomach rumbled at the smell of bacon, porridge, fresh toasted bread, and tea. As Griselda pulled the lids off, Marianne saw thick, creamy porridge, crisp bacon, slices of apple, what looked to be fresh milk and a sweet roll dripping with sugary glaze. 

Marianne gasped. “That is a lot of food!” 

Griselda laughed. “You are going to need a hearty breakfast! Magic requires a lot of energy.” 

Marianne smiled as she sat down at the table. “Thank you.” 

Griselda smiled in return. “You are not at all like I assumed a princess would be.” 

Marianne motioned to the other chair in the room; Griselda scooted it over and sat. 

“How did you think I would be?” Marianne asked as she pulled apart the sweet roll offering part of it to Griselda who waved it away. “I already ate dear.” 

Griselda tilted her head studying Marianne. “Well, I thought you would be more...royal, I suppose. Though you look the part. I mean you''re a beautiful young woman. You have the fairytale beauty of a princess” The older woman crossed her arms over her chest smiling. 

Marianne chuckled blushing at the same time. “Thank you...I mean for saying I'm beautiful. Did you think I would be more snooty?” 

Griselda laughed and nodded. “Aye, I suppose that would be the word.” 

Marianne took a sip of her tea. “My mother taught me that being royalty was a privilege. We were put in a position to serve the people, not the other way around.” 

Griselda nodded and smiled. “I think I would like your mother.” 

Marianne smiled softly a shadow of sadness on her features. “I think she would have liked you too.” 

“May I ask you a question?” Griselda pushed back a frizzled curl that had escape and fell across her face. 

Marianne took a bite of porridge and nodded. 

“When did you realize you could wield magic?” 

Marianne took a thoughtful sip of her tea before she answered. “Well...I suppose it was always there, little things that would happen, small things easily explained away. Finding a lost object, moving an object...nothing special really and not all the time. Sometimes a year would go by and nothing would happen and I would forget about it. But recently...” Marianne frowned, stirring her spoon in the thick creamy porridge. Griselda remained silent letting Marianne tell her story at her own pace. 

“Well,” Marianne began. “I was engaged and...things didn't work out between us and I...summoned a fire...” 

Griselda clasped her hands over her mouth. “How on earth? That takes a great deal of skill for someone with no teaching to do a spell of that power!” 

Marianne nodded. “I know that now.” 

“Was...did anyone..?” Griselda asked quietly. 

Marianne shook her head. “No one was killed or even hurt badly. One person...my ex-fiance lost his eyebrows though.” Marianne pressed her lips together to keep the giggle inside, but she couldn't. 

Bog's mother blinked for a moment then broke out into a very loud belly laugh, slapping her knee. “Now that is a funny! So that is why the king sent you to us” 

Marianne nodded. “That's why.” 

Griselda nodded chuckling. I'm going to leave you to eat.” She stood up. “Don't worry about the dishes. I'll come pick them up later.” 

Marianne swallowed her bite of porridge swiftly. “Where do I go after breakfast?” 

The older woman stopped in the doorway. “Well, Bog will be up in his library on the fifth floor. Head up there and knock. If he sends you away, just keep at it. He is going to be stubborn, but if you are here to learn, you just be stubborn right back. The room shouldn't be locked so you might be able to waltz in—unless he is in a mood and warded it, then come and get me. I'll make him let you in.” With a wink Griselda disappeared out the door. 

Marianne frowned. Be stubborn right back, eh? She could do that. 

* 

Bog was sitting in a large, gnarled looking chair that had been carved from a single thick trunk of dark wood. The chair resembled nothing so much as a throne of bone. The chair had been Bog's father's and he had fond memories of nights sitting in his father's lap while his Da read him stories of knights rescuing princesses or monsters being turned into handsome princes. But when Bog grew up he realized that no happy endings existed. Neither princesses nor simple maidens could love an ugly man...and sometimes the fair maiden was the monster instead. 

Bog pushed the sleeves of his robe up as he turned the page in the heavy book he was reading. Bog looked every inch the “evil” mage with his thick black hair slicked back from his sharp featured face to fall where the dark locks brushed against his collar, his robes all in black with silver trim. He sipped from a cup that held hot tea, the large leather bound book resting along his crossed legs, his knee balanced against the armrest with the book spread across his leg. A tray sat on the desk next to him, laden with some biscuits and a small ceramic bowl that held homemade butter. He was busy reading and comfortable within his study; thus he didn't notice when the door opened and his mother slipped in. 

She walked over to him quietly frowning when she saw that Bog hadn't touched breakfast. “Bog!” 

Bog jerked dropping the book. “Mother!! Damn it!” 

He put a hand to his chest glaring at her. 

Griselda sighed and stepped closer. “Bog, you need to eat! You're so thin.” 

He sighed picking up a biscuit and buttering it before taking a bite, raising his eyebrows at her. His mother rolled her eyes as she pulled a chair over from the corner and hopped onto the seat while Bog, chewing his food, bent over to pick up his fallen book. 

“So, are you going to start teaching the princess today?” Griselda asked innocently. 

Bog glowered suddenly. “Maybe.” 

His mother sighed. “Bog, stop being so stubborn. Just teach her.” 

Bog took another bite of his biscuit, setting the book on his lap. “Fine. I will teach her. Why do you even care mother?” 

“I like her.” Griselda smiled. 

Bog frowned. “You like her?” 

“I do. She isn't at all like you'd think she would be...being a princess.” His mother chewed her bottom lip, swinging her legs from the chair since she was so short. 

“She isn't snotty or demanding. She's been nothing but pleasant.” His mother looked at her nails while she spoke. “And she is very pretty.” 

Bog, who had been reaching over to pick up his tea narrowed his eyes at his mother. 

“I hadn't noticed.” He sipped his tea only to see his mother grinning at him. 

“Do not get any ideas,” he growled out a warning to his mother. 

Griselda continued to grin as she hopped down from the chair. “Well, I have a few things to do before lunch. You be nice,” she added with a waggle of her finger at him. Bog rolled his eyes. 

“I'll be nice...or at least as nice as I can.” 

Griselda gave him a “motherly” glare before she strolled over to the door and with a wave, his mother slipped back out of the room, heading down to the kitchens. Bog watched her go with narrowed eyes. He really wished she would stop trying to find someone for him. He thought she had given up the idea ages ago, but clearly he had been mistaken. It had been months since his mother had dragged some poor girl from the village home with her to throw at Bog as a potential wife, but now his mother had a whole new woman to try to play matchmaker with...a princess no less, who was living under his roof. He couldn't get away from her, or his mother and he couldn't send Marianne back where she came from—at least not until she was trained, it seemed. 

Bog sighed and opened his book again. He hated princesses. 

* 

Marianne looked at herself in the mirror. It was a tiny mirror compared to the one she had at home and there was a small crack in the corner. Marianne tilted her head one way, then the other trying to see if there was anything about herself that was different now that she could do magic. Well...now that she had the potential to do magic. She hadn't cast another spell since the one that got her father to send her here for training. She made a face at herself and stuck her tongue out. 

She was dressed in simple clothing, dark leggings made of finely woven cotton with a long tunic that resembled a short dress in a rich plum color. Around her waist she wore a thick leather belt, and on her feet she wore a pair of handcrafted leather boots that reached up to her knees. She ran her hands through her short hair, causing the tresses to stick up around her head making her look windblown. Marianne laughed softly. Well, she had gotten the freedom and adventure she had always wanted, at least. Sort of... 

She took a deep breath. “ Now to go find Bog and make him teach you to control your magic,” she said to herself with a firm nod. 

* 

Marianne made her way up the winding stairs to the fifth floor. Each level was decorated with tapestries, beautifully woven works of art that could easily be seen in a castle. She stopped and touched one tapestry, running her fingers over the fine threadwork. The scene showed a man, a mage Marianne thought judging by his robes. She frowned studying it. The man resembled Bog, but she was sure it wasn't him...there was something about the features that seemed different. She stood on the stairs studying the work for a few seconds longer before she turned and started back up the stairs. 

When she reached the fifth floor, she saw that there was only one door on this floor. A sturdy looking dark wooden door carved with some sort of symbol in the wood. The handle was made of polished bronze and shaped like the head of a dragon. The intricate detail on the door and knob were breathtaking. If the door's knob had turned and spit fire at her, she would not have been surprised at all. 

Marianne reached out and rapped her knuckles against the door, then waited. She was just about ready to knock again when there was a soft creaking sound and the door opened. Marianne stood there, her mouth hanging open slightly. From what Griselda had said, she expected a fight to get into the library, but apparently Bog was not in the mood to fight with her. 

Marianne pushed the door a little wider and stepped inside. 

She saw Bog sitting in a large, strange looking chair, a book open on his crossed legs. He looked up as she stepped in and motioned to another chair in the room. 

“Please sit.” His voice was deep with a slight accent. 

Marianne took the seat, crossing her legs and wrapping her hands around her knee. Bog closed his book and looked up, his eyes meeting hers. Marianne was shocked by the blue of his eyes. They were the type of eyes that reminded her of clear spring days, beautiful cloudless skies...but they contrasted with the face of a man who was clearly not happy to see her. 

Bog did his best not to stare at her. Now that she was in front of him, he could not deny how beautiful she was...her petite mouth, big brown eyes...his attraction to her was instant. He quickly shoved the attraction down, deep, to be locked away. She would never see him as anything more than a teacher...an ugly, harsh teacher at that. Bog swallowed, straightening his back and stared back at her, his gaze neutral. 

“So, tell me how you realized you had magic in you.” Bog laid his hands across the surface of the book, his gaze inquisitive. 

Marianne blushed glancing down at her folded hands. “Well...it was the day of my wedding...” 

Bog frowned in confusion. “You're married?” His eyes immediately moved to her finger noting the absence of a ring. 

“No, no I'm not...you see the day of the wedding, the man I was suppose to marry...well...” She took a breath glancing at a shelf of books as if they held the memory. “I was excited. I thought I was in love and I had made something for him, something to wear at the ceremony. I decided to go find my groom despite the fact that it is considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.” 

She looked up at Bog. “I mean, I was in love with my prince, what could possibly happen?” 

Here Bog made a slight noise under his breath. Clearly he felt the tradition of the groom seeing the bride before the ceremony being bad luck held no real power. 

Marianne continued. “When I found him, he was in the arms of another woman...they were sharing a very intimate embrace.” Marianne's voice had dropped to almost a whisper. 

Bog frowned gazing at her. He could feel the hurt radiating off of her. Her pain was still very recent. 

Marianne chewed her bottom lip for a moment before she continued. 

“I was, of course, very upset and angry...before I knew what was happening...I set him on fire.” 

Bog blinked. “What?” 

“Well...not “him” precisely...his hair...I burned his hair off....all of it...and his eyebrows.” Marianne studied her fingers feeling ashamed of the fact that her magic had manifested itself in an outburst of rage. 

Bog however, started laughing. “Correct me if I'm wrong...did you hurt him in any other way?” 

Marianne looked up Bog, confused, her lips pressed together. “Ah...no...just his hair.” Marianne tilted her head gazing at him. She found that she liked his smile. 

Bog continued to laugh, a low attractive chuckle. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth as he struggled to keep control of his amusement. “That actually demonstrates a great deal of control, which is surprising since it was your first outburst of magic. I'm...impressed.” 

Marianne smiled a little. Laughing transformed Bog's whole face. He went from being stern and angry looking to handsome, his blue eyes dancing, the smile showing off his slightly crooked teeth. 

Bog pressed his lips together suppressing more laughter as he rubbed the back of his neck, but Marianne could see the humor in his eyes. He then took a steadying breath. 

“Well, then you do indeed possess magic...more than I suspected.” 

Marianne frowned. “You doubted me?” 

Bog shrugged. “You could have made a puff of magical smoke and have no further talent than that...but because your a king's daughter your father could have demanded you be taught, whether there was any talent there or not. But you actually have some real skills...so I will teach you.” 

Bog stood up. “The first thing we need to teach you is to control your temper.” 

She frowned at him. “My temper? There is nothing wrong with my temper, that was...” 

Marianne stood up putting her hands on her hips in aggravation. “Well how would you feel if someone you loved cheated on you?” 

Bog frowned, his face going dark for a moment. Marianne was surprised, clearly Bog had been hurt at some point in the past. The sudden and sharp urge to go to him, to take his hands in hers was almost overpowering. She wanted to sooth him, but she laced her fingers together and tightened her grip, turning his knuckles white. 

“First rule of being my student...you will not disobey my instructions...nor will you ask me personal questions. I am not your friend, I am your teacher.” 

Marianne started to protest, but Bog turned his gaze on her, his eyes weren't hard exactly, but...shielded...he was hiding something...an old pain? Curiosity made her think about asking his mother... 

Marianne nodded. “Alright.” 

“Good. The first thing we need to work on is your focus.” Bog started to walk from the room, Marianne falling into step behind him. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

Bog glanced over his shoulder to answer her. “We are going to the gardens.” 

* 

Marianne followed him outside and around the tower to the garden. It was a small garden by her standards though it was no less beautiful than the royal gardens. As they walk down a small stone path, Marianne picked out black-eyed Susans, foxgloves, azaleas, bluebells, and buttercups just to name a few of the flowers she saw. Marianne knew the names of all the flowers from her years as a child following the royal gardener around. His name had been Nelris, an incredibly patient man who had been more than willing to teach a little princess about flowers. 

“So why are we going to the gardens?” Marianne asked as she looked around. 

“It's quiet,” Bog said without stopping. 

Marianne stared at his back, then shrugged. 

Bog finally stopped in a small semi-circle that contained two wooden benches, each carved to resemble overly large toadstools. It was a bit of whimsy she was surprised to find. The area was surrounded by roses that grew in thick bushes behind the benches and along three stone pillars that supported climbing roses, a tiny rose garden that made Marianne think of fairies and other mythical creatures. 

Bog indicated one of the mushroom benches with a graceful turn of his hand. Marianne took a seat watching Bog expectantly. He took the other seat, adjusting his robes. 

The air here smelled sweetly of roses which had a wonderful calming effect on Marianne's nerves. 

“I want you to relax,” Bog said softly. “Find a comfortable position, one where you could almost drift off to sleep.” 

Bog leaned back, bringing his long legs up to fold them cross-legged, his back resting against the back of the bench. He relaxed his shoulders, closing his eyes. Now that he wasn't looking at her, Marianne took a few moments to simply stared at him. The stern features of his face relaxed, dropping a few years from his face. His hands, that he now had resting on his knees, were long fingered, elegant hands really, despite the knobbiness of his knuckles. She watched the slight breeze rustle his hair, catching a few long strands and whipping them around slowly. She smiled; not your customary handsome face, but when he wasn't being grumpy or stern, there was something quite attractive about him she thought. 

Bog opened one blue eye to glare at her. 

“Relax and close your eyes,” he snarled. 

Marianne grinned folding her legs cross-legged and relaxing, her eyes closing. Bog rolled his eyes thinking to himself that she must not be used to ugly people where she came from. The way she kept staring at him one, would think he was a freak...perhaps he was... 

For a moment a well of pain rose up, burning in Bog's gut. He had been reminded of his ugliness by others his whole life and when his magic awakened, instead of things improving, they had only gotten worse...until...but then...Bog quickly pushed the thoughts aside. That was the past and he would not dwell on it. He had a student to teach. 

“Alright. I want you to let your mind relax and focus on the feelings that you felt the day your magic awakened.” 

Marianne took a few deep breaths listening to the sound of Bog's voice as he said. “Tell me what you felt.” 

Marianne pressed her lips together for a moment, her eyes started to sting as she murmured. 

“I felt, betrayal...angry...heartbroken...hate...” 

“Now, do you feel anything else...a physical stirring. It should almost feel like butterflies in your stomach, but stronger, as if there is a roiling, bubbling thing inside you, a geyser that is ready to explode...it might even burn...” 

Bog's voice came in a whisper as he continued. “That burn, that pull...that is your magic. Try to touch on it, but gently. Don't grab for it and don't let it roll over you either. You are the one in control.” 

Marianne felt it...just like Bog said. The feeling...it didn't hurt, but there was a power to it, a warm burn. The magic...that had to be it. Bog was right—it felt like butterflies...and a geyser, something ready to explode, the butterflies whipping around erratically, ready to explode in a burst of color. She reached out for it, her magic, touching it gently with her mind...a light caress. Her magic seemed to tremble. Marianne suddenly felt as if her grip on her magic was slipping away...the magic was too much... 

Bog's voice continued. “Now, I want you to think of a tiny flame, little...something you could hold in the palm of your hand. Control it, it belongs to you, you are the one in control Marianne.” 

Marianne felt her grasp on the magic slipping, it was like trying to hold onto a snake, it writhed in her hand trying to reach back and bite her, suddenly she lost control, the magic slipped from her grasp seeming to shoot away from her. 

Suddenly Bog let out a yelp. 

Marianne's eyes flew open to see Bog on his feet, slapping out a flame on the sleeve of his robe. Bog snarled out a word and suddenly the fire seemed to fold in on itself with a burst of smoke. Bog cursed flapping the sleeve of his robe, the material scorched, small tendrils of smoke rising from it. 

Bog frowned at her. “I see we are really going to have to work on your control.” 

Marianne grimaced. “Sorry...I felt it but..I just couldn't hold it.” 

Bog nodded. “It's fine...I want you to practice holding your magic.” 

“Holding it?” She asked in confusion. 

Bog nodded. “It would be like controlling your urges. When you feel the urge to...slap someone, but you don't...that is what you want to do with your magic. You may feel the urge to let go...simply don't.” 

Marianne groaned. “It's not that easy!” 

Bog frowned. “It is that easy. I am going to show you a safe place where you can practice. I don't want you setting fire to anything...important.” 

“Can I set myself on fire?” Marianne asked as they both stood up. 

Bog snorted on a laugh. “No, you can't.” 

Marianne made a face behind his back, sticking her tongue out as he led her back into the tower. 

“So now where are we going now?” she asked. 

Bog glanced over his shoulder at her, as he had earlier. “To the basement.”


	3. Magic in Her

Two days later Marianne was back in the section of the basement that Bog had assigned to her. She was down here trying to practice and meditate. She sat on the floor with her legs crossed and her eyes closed trying her best to let herself relax. She wore a long tunic of a lush sangria color, her leggings underneath were a dark eggplant color while a pair of short brown boots covered her feet and ankles. Her clothing was loose fitting and comfortable. She had her hands resting on her knees; everything about her attire and posture was comfortable and relaxed. To the casual observer, Princess Marianne seemed to be in a completely relaxed state. 

Except meditating was not going well for her. She had the illusion of mediating down to an art, but so far she had been an utter failure at actually relaxing. Her mind kept wandering while she sat there in the quiet of the basement room. The only sound was her own breathing. She thought about Bog, her mind asking questions about him such as, how old was he? She had always heard stories of how mages could live centuries...was he centuries old? Why did he seem so dour all the time? He seemed lonely. 

“Okay Marianne...stop it,” she said out loud in an effort to force herself back to meditating, but more questions popped in her head, such as why was he alone out here with only a handful of people around him? Was he born with magic? Why hadn't her magic come to her sooner? Why... 

“GRRR!!” Marianne growled aloud. “Focus!” 

She took a deep, calming breath, letting it out again slowly. 

Bog had told her to focus on the feelings that had first opened her magic up to her. That was becoming a problem...every time she thought of Roland, the fire would burn out of control which would only feed her annoyance or anger at herself, which in turn would cause the flames to become more intense. Thus, the giant scorch mark on the wall in front of her. 

She was starting to think she was going to be a failure at holding onto her magic if the scorch marks on the walls were any indication. That just fueled her annoyance. But she was not going to give up. Princess Marianne was determined that she would master this damn magic! 

She was so completely focused on her magic and holding it, trying to control it while fighting within herself that she didn't hear Bog come down the stairs and stop in the doorway to check on her. 

* 

Bog crossed his arms and leaned against the stone archway that led into the room, staying in the shadows of the doorway watching her. Instead of a candle, Bog had given her magical light, tiny floating balls of illumination that danced and bobbed around the room in slow, lazy movements. Marianne's nose was wrinkled in frustration, her brow furrowed. The balls of light danced around her almost like a halo, giving the princess a fey-like appearance. She could easily have been a fairy-like creature; she was pretty enough Bog thought. Sun-kissed skin, her short brown hair, a lithe figure... 

Bog frowned. What on earth was he doing? Bog physically shook himself to chase the thoughts away before he stepped fully into the room. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He hated feeling nervous. He furrowed his brow in frustration. 

“I see you are still having difficulty.” His voice was pitched low, not quite a whisper, but also not as loud as his normal tone of voice. 

Marianne's eyes flew open into an immediate glare. Bog smirked, clearly the princess was not used to “failing” at something; she was fiery just like her magic. 

Marianne tried to keep the frustration out of her voice as she spoke. “Well, it's difficult when the emotion that triggered my magic was anger.” 

Bog chuckled and nodded his understanding. “Perhaps we need to find another emotion or a different way for you to focus?” 

Marianne pushed herself up to her feet placing her hands on the small of her back and stretching backwards. Bog found the movement distracting. He turned away pretending to examine the scorched wall. Marianne watched him before she asked. “How?” Though she was thinking to herself that annoyance with Bog might be a good emotion to focus on. 

Bog frowned rubbing his chin in thought, his eyes still on the black mark across the stone wall. Marianne tried not to stare at him, but she found that it was difficult to avoid. In the last two days she hadn't seen much of him. She was beginning to suspect that part of the reason he had sent her down here to “meditate” was the get her out of his hair. Today he was dressed in shades of blue, including a dark indigo blue robe that brought out his damnable blue eyes. The sleeves were long, but when he lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck while he spoke, the sleeve dropped away to reveal a thin, wiry muscled forearm which she suddenly found inordinately attractive. 

He seemed to be thinking as he rubbed his neck, his eyes unfocused, granting Marianne a moment to study him. His other long fingered hand rested against his hip as he concentrated on whatever thought he was mulling over. Marianne's eyes traveled down noticing that the robe was held around his waist by a thin leather belt. He has a very thin waist, she thought. The robe continued down, long enough that the fabric brushed the top of his boots, though the robe was cut in waist high slits that allowed his legs to move freely, underneath she could see that he wore form fitting black pants with matching black leather boots that laced up to his knees. 

Marianne felt her cheeks burn. Her rebellious eyes followed the line of his leg. She bit the inside of her cheek. The way she was acting, she realized that her behavior was just like that of an adolescent girl with her first crush. She had sworn to herself that she was never going to be involved with anyone ever again...ever. She would never marry, never fall in love. She would inherit the kingdom and rule, alone. But this stupid, annoying mage was distracting, serving only to annoy her more. She decided right then and there—she hated him. 

“Maybe meditation is not a proper focus for you,” Bog muttered to himself. He rubbed his chin in thought. 

Suddenly he turned, his blue eyes seeming to bore right through her. “Have you ever tried using a sword?” 

“What?” Marianne's voice came out in a gush of startled breath. 

* 

A few minutes later, Marianne stood outside. She had walked a fair distance from the tower, detouring off the main road to hike to the middle of a field to wait for Bog. The day was overcast; the sunlight was a soft grey that filled the sky with the promise of rain. A cool breeze blew over the empty field on the far side of the tower where Marianne stood with a sword in her hand that she was struggling to hold up. The blade was a great deal heavier than she thought it would be. It was a one-handed sword, though she had no idea of the type. It was a beautifully crafted sword, but while she could lift it over her head, she couldn't seem to hold it for very long before she was forced to drop the tip back down to the ground. 

Bog had strolled out of the tower behind her, carrying the two swords. He had handed her a blade once he was next to her. The wizard had held both swords easily when he had exited the tower, which spoke to the strength in his arms. When he had handed the blade to her, Marianne had nearly dropped it. Bog had chuckled, but otherwise made no comment about her lack of upper body strength. 

Before meeting her at the tower entrance, Bog had changed his clothing. He had replaced his robe for a tunic which gave him more freedom of movement with his arms and legs. The change of attire also gave Marianne a clearer idea of his physique. Why she cared she didn't know, but it was clear that he was not a mage who only sat around reading books and performing magic. The top of the tunic was unlaced (not intentionally, just Bog being careless, but it did show some of his chest beneath), he was slim yet well muscled. Marianne cursed at herself for being...well, she wasn't exactly sure what she was being, but making mental comments to herself about her instructor's body was beyond silly she thought to herself. She frowned and smiled...no, she was just being “aware.” There, that sounds much better, she told herself. 

She focused her attention back to what he was doing rather than how he was dressed. 

* 

Bog walked away from her for a little distance with his back to her. Then he began to swing the sword. He moved easily, gracefully, executing several twists and turns. He almost seemed to be dancing...Marianne watched him, her mouth slightly open in wonderment. Bog moved the sword in a wide arch, his legs gliding in what appeared to her to be complicated steps that had his body, as well as the sword, twisting and turning in a flowing motion. He twisted around, the sword an extension of his arm. He danced back, then around, the sword following a pattern through the air until he was turned around and facing her again. 

Bog stopped and frowned. The princess was staring at him, her mouth slightly opened. 

With a grumbled, “What?” Bog dropped the tip of the sword into the ground and leaned on the hilt. “Never seen a sword used properly before?” 

Marianne snapped her mouth shut, wrinkling her nose in annoyance at him. She must definitely focus on annoyance for her magic because Bog was becoming very good at annoying her. 

Finally she asked. “Why do you know how to use a sword?” 

Bog sighed. “I wasn't always a master mage. I was once ordinary.” 

Marianne had to suppress the urge to scoff. She thought to herself he was anything but ordinary. Instead she asked.“Weren't you born with your abilities?” 

She held her sword out with one arm trying to imitate one of his movements, but then immediately dropped the blade's tip embedding it into the ground. 

Bog nodded. “Yes, but I didn't come out of the womb shooting spells.” He lifted his sword, beginning a whole new and different dance with the blade. 

Marianne chuckled at the image that brought to mind. 

Bog continue to do a few swings with the sword as he spoke. “My father was royalty, as is my mother. I'm the eldest child.” 

Marianne blinked in surprise. “Royalty? The eldest?” 

Bog nodded. “Yes.” His tone offered no other information. 

Marianne opened her mouth, but stopped herself. By the set of Bog's jaw and the scowl around his eyes, he did not want to talk about his past. She held the sword up. “So, what do I do?” 

Bog stopped his dance with the sword and turned with a smile on his lips. He was smiling! Marianne blinked. Goodness. 

“Alright, first we need to build your strength so that you can hold that sword properly. That will mean a lot of focus and repeated movements—a different kind of meditation.” 

He smiled walking over to stand beside her. “Now follow my actions as best you can. You are not going to do this correctly the first time Princess, so try not to have a tantrum.” 

Marianne wrinkled her nose at the way he said princess, but when he said tantrum she felt her magic boiling to come out. Yes, he is very annoying, she thought, but she kept her mouth shut, focusing instead on listening and watching his instructions. 

Bog began in move his arm in a series of patterns, his arm flowing up to one shoulder, across his shoulder, then down, then across the front of his body then back again. He performed the movement smoothly, reminding her of how water flowed. It looked fairly easy. Marianne started to follow him, though she was having trouble keeping the sword up. Bog stopped to watch her, a frown forming as his thick eyebrows came down. After another minute he put a hand up. 

“Stop,” he said simply. “That sword is just too heavy for you.” 

“Hold the blade out as best you can,” he said stabbing his own sword into the ground and stepping closer to her. He put his hand out toward the blade, holding his palm out, long fingers spread wide hovering above her sword, not touching it. Marianne watched him curiously. She wasn't sure she saw it at first. But then as she watched more closely, she could see a slight disturbance in the air under Bog's palm. It was like seeing the shimmer of heat on the water during a hot day. 

Her arm had started to shake, the weight of the sword beginning to pull her arm down, but then as Bog held his hand out, the sword gradually started to feel lighter, not too light, however. It still had enough weight to it that doing the exercise was going to work her arm muscles to the point that she would be sore, but the blade had become much lighter than when she started. 

“What did you do?” Marianne gazed at the sword in wonderment. 

Bog shrugged. “I simply added a spell to the metal causing it to weigh less.” 

Marianne held the blade up her eyes wide with awe. “That's amazing...” Her voice was breathless. 

Bog blushed and shrugged. “Well...mage, you know.” 

Marianne chuckled, but then started to do the exercises he had just showed her with a wide, pleased grin. It was much easier now. She could tell that she was still going to be sore, but now she could do the movements without feeling that the sword would drag her to the ground with it. 

Bog smiled again stepping alongside her and duplicating the movements with a great deal more grace. 

“Now, focus on the movement of your arm, the feel of the blade in your hand. Don't think about your magic, just focus on the movements of your arm and the sword.” 

Marianne nodded. “Alright.” 

* 

Up in one of the tower windows, Griselda had stopped her cleaning to watch her son and the princess out in the field. At first she had been nervous when she saw Bog with the swords. Usually he only practiced his swordsmanship when he was under a great deal of stress, but from what his mother could see, he seemed to be enjoying himself. She grinned.

“Finally.” 

* 

The first few minutes were rough for Marianne. She wasn't accustomed to this type of excursion and the sword was a little awkward. But after about half an hour, with Bog giving her pointers and mild corrections in regards to how she was holding the blade, she soon had her rhythm. Bog smiled glancing sideways at her watching her with the sword. She was a natural. 

“We are going to stop soon, but I want you to close your eyes, keep doing the movements I taught you. But now I want you to close your eyes and let your mind drift, let the motion of the sword, the sound of it cutting through the air, the weight of it in your hand, the pull of your muscles, and my voice be the only thing you hear.” 

Marianne closed her eyes listening, to the cadence of his voice, letting her mind focus on the movements of her arms, the sound of the blade cutting through the air. She did her best to ignore her sore muscles and only listened to his voice...rich, warm... 

Bog continued to speak, but his voice seemed to harmonize with the sound of her blade moving through the air. 

“Feel that burn, deep down within yourself...your magic. Reach out for it—the magic is yours, part of you. It does not control you. You control it.” 

Marianne smiled. There it was, she felt it, that slight burning tickle. It wasn't unpleasant, but the exact opposite. It felt good, right. Bog continued to speak, his voice low. 

“Now I want you to touch the fire and sent it out along your blade.” 

“What?” Marianne started to open her eyes, but Bog's tone was stern. 

“Keep your eyes closed and don't stop focusing. You need to control the fire, to tell it to do what you want.” 

Marianne snapped her eyes shut, squeezing them tighter. Alright, she could do this...touch the magic, make it do what she wanted. In her mind's eye, she focused on taking the fire in her hands and laying it across the blade, like she was painting the blade with a bright red paint. 

Then she heard Bog whisper, “Open your eyes.” 

Marianne opened her eyes and saw the blade coated in fire. She let out a startled yelp dropping the sword. The fire on it instantly extinguished. 

Bog chuckled. “That was an excellent start.” 

Marianne grinned then, pleased with herself as she bent over and picked up the sword. “That was amazing! I can't believe that I did it!” 

Bog smiled. “I want you to practice with the blade for an hour every day, not more than an hour. You don't want to push yourself too hard yet. If you push yourself too hard, then you will only do yourself a disservice.” He gave her a hard glare to make sure she understood the importance of these instructions. “Just use the blade to focus your magic, but promise me you will not cast any magic. Don't even think about it unless I am with you. It's far too easy to lose control, especially with fire magic. I just want you to practice control of your body, the blade and being able to access your magic. Casting will come later.” 

He reached over and took the sword from her. Marianne frowned. “But I want to keep practicing!” 

“Not today. You don't realize it yet, but you are going to be very sore tomorrow. Might as well rest. Get my mother to make you something to eat. But we will put your time when you're not working with the sword to good use by studying. I have several books on the rudimentaries of magic that you can start reading.” 

Bog grinned, but his smile dropped a little when he saw Marianne looking up at him. She smiled a sincere smile. 

“Thank you Bog.” 

Bog blushed, suddenly bashful. 

“Ah...yes. You're welcome. So...ah...good. Get something to eat.” 

Marianne nodded giving him another smile before she strolled off back toward the tower. He watched her go, feeling the blush on his skin race up to the tips of his ears. 

He furrowed his brow and muttered to himself, a reminder. 

“I don't like princesses.”


	4. Gooseberry Fool

It had been two weeks since Bog had given Marianne the sword. He had changed the weight spell little by little, allowing the sword to become heavier in increments. In another week, Marianne was sure she would have the blade back to its normal weight. She grinned with satisfaction, proud of herself for the strength and skill she was developing with her sword, but she was also starting to be able to control her magic more and more. 

But she was not outside practicing today, because today it was raining. Not just raining, it was pouring causing a deep chill to settle into everything. She adjusted her legs, curling them under herself and tucking the cloth of her simple dress around her legs before she pulled the shawl around her shoulders closer. 

Marianne sat in the window seat where she had a book lying across her lap, but she wasn't focused on reading it. She had her chin resting in her hand leaning against the window sill, staring out the window watching the rain fall. Her plan to continue hating Bog wasn't working out the way she had hoped...which was all his fault, of course. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. He was still a bit standoffish and had a biting tongue, but he could also be—somewhat nice. He had done nothing, but be supportive with the sword lessons, never berating her, though he would laugh occasionally when she would make a silly mistake; such as the other day when she convinced him to remove the weight spell completely and she had brought the sword over her head....the weight of the sword had taken her with it when it continued to fall backwards, causing her to fall on her rump. 

That was the first time in the few weeks she had been here that she had heard him really laugh. She hated to admit it, but his laugh was rather nice to her ears. He had laughed hard enough at her that tears had started to form in the corners of his eyes. He had been forced to turn away from her to stop himself from laughing. Marianne remembered the way his blue eyes had sparkled, the way the smile had transformed his face into something bordering on handsome. She wrinkled her nose again trying to think of something foul to call him, but she couldn't come up with anything. All she could think about was his laugh. 

Marianne glanced across the room to where Bog was seated at an oaken desk, a large tome opened before him. He was bent over the volume reading, several candles burning along the front of the desk. There were a few orbs of magical light dancing around the room as well as the light coming from the roaring fire in the fireplace to the far left of the room. Everything was quite cozy. 

Marianne frowned, studying him. He was working quietly, the quill in his hand scratching across the parchment as he took notes. His dark hair was pulled back from his sharp face, a few strands having come loose to hang along the side of his face. The loose hairs brushed across his cheeks and forehead. She smiled noticing the small smear of ink across one cheek. 

Today he wore a long robe looking much more like a mage. The robes were a shade of grey that reminded her of the clouds outside, with silver details along the sleeves and collar. He looked quite...Never mind, she thought to herself. 

After a few minutes, he seemed to sense her eyes on him and glanced up. Marianne felt her heart jerk in her chest when his blue gaze met hers. 

“Something wrong?” he inquired quietly. 

“No...no, just—bored.” Marianne shrugged. 

Bog frowned for a moment then smiled. “Reading not keeping your attention? Let me teach you a spell that you might enjoy.” 

Marianne tilted her head, her interest piqued. “What kind of spell?” 

Bog pushed himself back from the desk and stood up walking by her and motioning for her to follow him. “It's a simple spell with no real use except to entertain, though I suppose that can be useful.” 

He smiled lopsidedly and sat down on the floor near the fireplace. 

“We are going to use fire for this spell since fire seems to be an element that you share an affinity with.” He grinned, a glimmer of humor in his blue eyes. 

Marianne opened her mouth to give a scathing response, but then snapped her jaw shut. She wasn't sure if this was an insult or not. She decided it wasn't...because, well, it was true. 

Bog adjusted his long legs a little more comfortably, sitting cross legged next to the fire. Marianne sat on the floor across from him crossing her own legs. 

“Now, watch the fire.” Bog moved his hands, his long fingers looked elegant as he started to weave them in the air. She could see the just barely visible shimmer in the air around his hands, the magic he called forth. The fire in the fireplace started to move with the motions of his hands. Marianne stared, hypnotized as the fire separated, forming into shapes. 

He glanced sideways at her. “Now you, or whoever is casting the spell, tells a story or sings a song and the fire...or whatever element that you are using, will reflect the story or song.” 

Marianne blinked, clearly taken with the idea as she focused on the fire expectantly, her hands pressed between her legs. Her face showed how enchanted she was with the idea and his demonstration as she waited for Bog to do something. 

He tried not to stare at her, but she looked lovely, innocent...beautiful, her mouth forming a slight smile, her eyes glowing with wonderment, and the fire reflecting in their golden brown depths. Her voice was soft as she asked, “Can you sing a song?” 

Bog blushed, but took a breath. His first response was to refuse. He hadn't sung in ages, his voice was...he frowned remembering being told he should never sing again by a woman he cared about, a woman who had shattered his heart beyond repair. Instead he chewed his bottom lip then sighed. 

“Alright...” 

Bog started to sing. Marianne jerked slightly, startled at the sound of Bog's voice. Her eyes moved from the fire that had begun to form shapes, the separate flames telling the story that Bog sang. His voice was deep, with a slight growl to it. His accent became smoother, warmer...the sound of his voice rolled over, sending ripples of heat through her body, but something else was happening, a strange sort of tingling in her chest. She wasn't paying any attention to the fire; instead her focus only on him, watching the way his lips formed the words, the hint of his teeth—crooked teeth—behind his well-formed lips. His eyes were focused on the fire which she could see reflected in their blue depths. The shadows danced across his harsh, sharp features as the tune he sang broke her heart. 

She had heard the song before, an old tune, Tiree Love Song...she had heard it sung at court, but not like this...Bog's voice was a magic all its own. When he sang she could almost hear the strokes of a lute with his voice though there were no instruments playing. 

Bog slowly closed his eyes, the magic never waning as he sang. “Will you come away my love 

To be my own my rare one....” 

* 

Griselda made her way up the winding staircase carrying a large tray where she had placed a pot of hot tea, sugar, cream, biscuits, butter and fresh jam. She frowned in confusion when she stopped on the landing outside the study where she knew Bog and Marianne were supposed to be studying. She tilted her head struggling to listen outside the heavy door and there...there it was...Bog. Griselda could not believe her ears, her boy was singing? She couldn't remember the last time he had sung. No wait, she could...it was when he had been in love with “her” that witch of a woman. 

The fact that he was willing to sing at all was...Griselda was at a loss for words! Could the princess still be in there? Griselda had been down in the kitchen so she couldn't be sure if Marianne had left the room to go back to her own, but somehow Griselda was sure the young woman was still inside. For a few moments, Griselda hesitated. She didn't want to barge in and ruin whatever was going on, but she looked down at her tray, that son of hers would forget to eat completely if she didn't surprise him with trays of food for him to snack on. 

With a sigh, the tray getting heavy and her arms starting to shake a little from standing out on the landing, she pushed the door with her hip. 

The door opened, only making the slightest sound, but neither Bog nor Marianne seemed to notice. Griselda saw the two of them sitting on the floor across from each other in front of the fireplace. Bog had stopped singing, but she caught a glimpse of the spell he had been doing with the fire. She grinned. He was entertaining the princess! Oh, this was good news! 

“I hate to disturb the two of you, but I brought some hot tea and biscuits.” Griselda grinned, motioning with the full tray. 

Marianne popped to her feet having been startled from staring at Bog, then grabbed her stomach in embarrassment as it chose that moment to growl very loudly. 

Marianne chuckled. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” She blushed glancing sideways at Bog. Bog stood up more slowly, seeming to unfold himself to stand to his full height, which was always impressive. He looked embarrassed as he gave his mother a small smile. “Thank you, mother.” 

Griselda grinned, her mind swirling with questions, though she chose to keep her mouth shut. One thing she knew about her son, if she pushed too hard, Bog would shut himself off from her completely. 

So instead, Griselda looked around for a clear surface where she could place the tray with tea and biscuits. 

Marianne noticed Griselda looking for a place to set the tray down. Nearly every surface of the room was covered with books or papers. Clearly Bog did not straighten this room or allow his mother to do so. Marianne rushed over to clear a small corner table of its many books and papers. Griselda gave her a grateful smile setting the tray down. 

“Well, you two can get back to studying, but don't let the tea get cold!” The older woman waved as she walked out of the study doing her best to suppress the smile that had been forming across her face. 

Bog frowned suspiciously, watching his mother leave. His mother seemed a bit...he narrowed his eyes, he wasn't sure, but she seemed...expectant? He shook his head walking over to where Marianne was pouring the tea, the problem of whatever it was his mother was up to would wait. 

“Sugar? Cream?” Marianne asked. 

“Both please,” Bog said softly. Marianne poured the tea adding some cream then two cubes of sugar. She handed the cup to him, then picked up a biscuit. “Butter? Jam?” 

“The tea is fine.” He moved back over to the desk where he had be sitting. 

Marianne frowned at his back. “Your mother worries about you eating. You should eat at least one biscuit for her peace of mind.” 

Bog groaned rolling his head in exasperation. “Fine. But I can do it, you don't have to serve me or anything so foolish.” 

Marianne screwed her nose up. “I'm not serving you—I was being polite and making sure you actually eat something for your mother's sake.” 

Angrily, Marianne started buttering a biscuit, smacking jam onto it with more force than necessary. Bog set his tea down on top of one of the many books littering his desk (careful not to place it on the large tome he had opened across his desk) and walked back over to the tray. 

He pressed his lips together when he glanced at Marianne. She was rather adorable when she was angry, the way her nose wrinkled, her dark eyes sparkling with annoyance. 

She was cute, he realized. He reached over picking up a biscuit just as Marianne took an angry bite of her own. The bite was a bit too big for her small mouth, which forced her to make very amusing faces as she struggled to chew the oversized portion. 

Bog stood there staring down at her. He was fighting not to laugh at her while she glared at him, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunks while she continued to struggle with chewing the too-large bite. Bog bit the inside of his cheek against the amusement bubbling up in him as he watched the cute expressions race across her face. Marianne finally was forced to grab her cup of tea and take a drink to help reduce the bite in her mouth. Bog found the whole situation to be hilarious. 

Marianne narrowed her brown eyes at him. She could see he was amused, which made her even more annoyed with him. When she was finally able to speak she growled, “Eat a biscuit.” 

That was when Bog lost control and started to laugh. Marianne glared grabbing her tea and moving back over to the fireplace. 

“I'm sorry,” Bog uttered between laughter. 

Marianne glared at the fire, but then a giggle escaped her lips. It had been rather funny. She looked back over to Bog who was trying to butter a biscuit and laughing at the same time. He looked over at her, the two of them staring at each other with amusement, which caused them both to laugh more. 

Bog chortled. “You're face...you looked like a chipmunk.” 

Marianne laughed. “It was such a big bite, I'm surprised I got it in my mouth.” 

Laughing along with her, Bog snorted finishing with his biscuit and walked back over to his tea. 

“I'm sorry I made you angry.” 

Marianne's laughter stopped. “What?” 

“I said, I am sorry.” Bog took his seat taking a small bite of the biscuit. 

Marianne smiled softly. “Thank you Bog.” 

He smiled softly, simply giving her a nod. 

* 

It was late in the evening and the rain still had not let up. Griselda decided to make a large dinner that evening along with a dessert. She was hoping that a nice big meal would encourage the princess and her son to talk more, to bond...maybe fall in love? She grinned to herself in hope. Marianne was perfect for her heart-broken son. She hummed to herself while she basted the venison she had roasting on the spit with sugar, cinnamon and butter. She had fava beans cooking in a pot along with butter and onions as well as some Leach-lumbar made with some of the finest red wine they had, all rolled and printed with her best cookie press. Griselda had even gone so far as to decorate the dining room of the tower with candles, some dried flowers that she had placed in vases around the room. 

She left the venison roasting and quickly dashed back to the dining room for some final touches. The fire was roaring nicely, chasing away the chill in the room. She had burned some of her special tea leaves in the fire...to enhance the mood, which had nothing whatsoever to do with the tea leaves' properties that encouraged...certain feelings. 

They simply smelled nice. Griselda grinned rubbing her hands down on her apron and returned to her kitchen. 

The “dining” room was on the first floor of the tower, down a tiny hall to the right from the kitchen. For a dining room it was rather small. The room held a square maple wood table and four chairs. Bog did not like to entertain and when he was forced to, he would only have one or two people at a time within the tower. Griselda had set the table herself, using an old, handmade lace tablecloth that had been her mother's before her. Griselda's mother, Murdina, had given the cloth to her daughter on the day she married. (Griselda had stopped for a moment, remembering the day of her marriage to the king. He hadn't been the king yet, only a very young prince with blue eyes like the sky and a smile that could melt hearts. She loved him still even though he had been gone for a long time now.) 

Griselda had even gotten out her fine tableware. Another gift from her mother. There were times Griselda missed the castle, the court, but then for a moment Griselda's mind wandered to the past; the death of her husband, the attempts on Bog's life. The pain her young son suffered...his abdicating the throne to his uncle. She shook her head. No, that was the past, the long past. Her son had been safe now for many years, far away from all of that. They had disappeared. 

Now Bog was old enough and finally skilled enough that he could take care of himself if anything were ever to happen. Though she still worried. 

Griselda took a steadying breath. That was the past and she had a future to focus on...one which included getting her son to see what was right in front of his eyes. A very beautiful young princess who also shared his gift for magic. She wasn't a fool, she had seen the way they looked at each other when the other wasn't paying attention. Only a blind person wouldn't be able to see that there was a spark of something between them 

She had seen them out there training with swords, Bog teaching her simple spells, and she had heard the laughed drifting down the staircase from the rooms above. Yes, this young woman was perfect for him. Now, just to get them both to see it! 

Griselda finished with the venison, transferring the meat to a platter, then spreading the fava beans around the venison. 

She carried the dish into the dining room before going back to get the rolls she had rolled out and baked together and the dessert, the Leach-lumbar's looking lovely on their own platter. She dug around in the cabinets until she found a couple of goblets. She quickly cleaned before grabbing another fresh bottle of red wine and set it on the table. She grinned, her hands fisted on her hips as her eyes glided over the room. Everything was perfect, the food smelled delicious, the delicate smell of the tea leaves she had tossed in the fire created a sensual mood. Now all she needed was for the two of them to fall in love. 

Griselda sighed. “Please!” She put her hands together praying to anyone who would listen, her eyes looking heavenward “Please let them both find love...with each other pretty please?” 

* 

Marianne and Bog were back to their reading when Griselda stuck her head through the doorway. “Dinner's ready.” 

Bog glanced up from his note taking. “None for me tonight mother.” 

Griselda narrowed her eyes. “You get your derriere downstairs right now Bog and eat dinner or I swear!” 

Bog looked up startled to see his mother glaring at him and shaking a fist before she slammed the door. Bog's expression went from startled to confused. “What is wrong with her?” 

Marianne stood up from where she had remained sitting on the floor and brushed off her legs. “I think she wants you to eat dinner.” 

Marianne had to suppress a laugh. 

Bog grumbled. “I don't understand what is wrong with her lately.” 

* 

They made their way down, heading toward the kitchen only to find Bog's mother standing in the door way. She pointed down the hall. “Dining room.” 

Bog opened his mouth to protest, but his mother crooked her arm and then snapped it out again, pointing harder. Bog rolled his eyes and sighed, stomping to the dining room with Marianne following behind him, glancing over her shoulder only to see Griselda continuing to stand in the kitchen doorway, her arms folded across her chest. 

“She is acting a bit...odd,” Marianne muttered in agreement. 

They turned left heading into the only room down this short way and stopped short in the doorway. Before them lay a practical feast, candlelight everywhere. Bog stared. 

“What?” 

Marianne blinked. “What's going on?” 

They both looked at one another. “Why would she....” 

Bog and Marianne opened their mouths at the same time, but then were interrupted by Griselda shoving herself between them carrying a tray. “I almost forgot the gooseberry fool!” 

She hurried over to the table placing the large bowl of gooseberry, sugar and cream blended into a pudding-like substance on the table along with two small ceramic bowls and spoons. 

Griselda turned around to see Bog and Marianne simply standing there staring at her. “Will you two get in here and eat dinner before this food gets cold!” 

Bog frowned. “Aren't you eating with us mother?” 

Griselda tossed her hand at him. “This is far to rich for my delicate stomach sweetheart. I have something prepared in the kitchen. Now you two sit down and enjoy.” 

She gave them both a big smile as she shuffled back out the door. 

Bog watched her go with a confused frown, but Marianne walked over pulling out her chair. “Come on Bog, everything smells wonderful!” 

Bog watched her as she set about filling her plate. He chuckled softly. Never had he met anyone, especially a princess, with such an appetite...he found that he liked that a great deal about her. 

* 

Griselda was smiling happily. She had sneaked back down to the dining room to listen after a few minutes to hear the two of them talking, eating and laughing. She grinned with delight, but then she heard what sounded like a knock at the tower's main door. 

Frowning, wondering who on earth could be out there in this rain at this time of night, she made her way to the door opening it carefully. 

“Hello?” 

Standing there was a cloaked and hooded figure, soaked through. “Yes, I'm looking for the Princess Marianne?” 

Griselda narrowed her eyes. “And who might you be?” 

He pushed the hood back causing Griselda to pale. She knew this man, remembered him coming here months ago...he looked quite a bit better then. If she wasn't mistaken, he was wearing a wig. 

The man gave her that smile she remembered from when he was first here...Griselda looked disgusted as the man announced with a huge smile. 

“It is I, her fiance, Roland Knight.”


	5. Unexpected guests

Griselda glared daggers at the man standing in her doorway, dripping wet, with the wind howling behind him, blowing a chill and the occassional drop of water into the kitchen. In the few private moments she had shared with Marianne, Griselda had learned everything about Roland Knight that she needed to know. The man was supposedly good-looking, charming and a complete jobby. 

As Griselda examined the man standing in her doorway, she wasn't completely sure, but from the description Marianne had given her of Roland Knight, Griselda thought she might have met the man before...the description fit the physical appearance of a man that she remembered...had showed up here months ago...he had been a right jobby too. The man who had shown up on at the tower months ago, fitting Roland Knight's description, had come to the tower looking for a love potion, only to have Bog chase him off. From the way Marianne had described Roland Knight, it had sounded like the same man, except Griselda didn't remember the man saying he was royalty or anything; though now that she thought about it, he had been pretty snobby and clearly used to getting his way. 

But now, seeing Roland in the flesh, she knew this was indeed the same man that had shown up on Bog's doorstep months ago only he had given a different name. She couldn't quite remember what the name was, but this was the same man, she was sure of it. Griselda narrowed her eyes at Knight; anyone who was looking for a love potion was a coward and a weasel. 

* 

When Roland (or whatever name he had been using at the time) had ridden up to the tower all those months ago, begging for a love potion, willing to pay anything, Bog had wanted to turn him into a jackass. Griselda remembered the confrontation with a grin. If she hadn't convinced her son to just kick him out, there would now be an assheaded noble in the king's court. Of course if she had let her son go ahead with the spell, Marianne wouldn't have had her heart broken and may not have come into her magic at all. 

Funny how things work out, she thought briefly. 

Bog had been irritated that anyone would even ask for such a thing. (Bog had had problems with a love potion years ago, it had brought him nothing but pain and misery. Griselda remembered that time well. Bog had punished himself, staying secluded in his tower for weeks on end. Her boy had sworn off love and happiness, but she secretly hoped that maybe that might change with Marianne now living in the tower...) He had driven the blonde man out the door, threatening that if he ever returned, Bog would make good on his threat and turn his head into that of an ugly jackass. 

* 

Griselda was surprised to see Roland, realizing that this couldn't be a coincidence! Griselda had to give the ass credit, it took a pair of massive balls for him to show up here again. Or, Griselda thought, or maybe he was just plain stupid. By the looks of him, stupid seemed the more accurate description. 

“May I come in?” Roland's huge smile faltered a little when the older woman simply stood there glaring at him. She didn't step aside for him, she didn't even return his smile! 

Roland was not used to being treated like this by a woman! It was...well, it just wasn't how women treated him. 

Griselda narrowed her eyes a fraction more. “I don't think so.” 

She started close the door on him, her intent to slam it in his face was clear, but Roland's hand shot out, grabbing the wooden door before she could close it. Griselda wasn't a weakling, but this man was just that much stronger than her that he prevented her from closing the door on him. She was surprised as she struggled with the door. Roland continued to smile. “Oh come now...you're not going to leave me to die of cold out here are you?” 

He shoved the door open then, causing Griselda to stumble backwards a few steps. Roland, still trying to be charming, smiled at her. “Please, just tell Marianne I'm here. Hmm?” 

Griselda snarled wiping her hands down her skirt in a frustrated movement. “Fine—wait here.” 

She hurried off wishing she had listened to her son and let him put a ward on that door. If she had, Roland's forcing it open would have given him quite a shock. Well, after this she was going to let her boy put that ward up. No one was ever going to shove their way into the tower again. Griselda did not like being bullied, but as she hurried up the stairs, grabbing a candle as she did, she knew her son would like it even less. 

* 

Bog and Marianne were kneeling in front of the fire again, both of them focused on their cupped hands. Bog was holding Marianne's hands gently cupped between his own. He was speaking to her in a low voice that Marianne felt like a caress along her skin. His voice was soothing, yet there was an underlying passion she could feel in the vibration of his words. 

“Now focus...feel the warmth in your palms, but remember it won't hurt you. Fire is part of who you are...” 

Marianne swallowed trying to shift her focus from Bog's gentle voice and the light feel of his hands around hers. She focused her will, her thoughts on the fire that she wanted to appear in her hands. While she gazed down at her cupped hands, she could feel a slight pleasant warmth. Marianne could feel the pull of the magic within her, but then Bog's fingers twitched ever so slightly, brushing the back of her hands, causing her to lose her focus...again. 

She realized that part of the problem was that she was distracted by the feel of Bog's hands around hers. His long fingers were slightly rough, and there was a different sort of warmth she could feel from them. She swallowed, focusing again, trying not to notice that Bog's fingers caressed the back of her hands each time his fingers twitched, or that this close to him, she could smell him...a rich male scent combined with the smell of winter air and a slight copper taste—his magic maybe? Marianne frowned focusing on that instead of her hands which were becoming increasingly distracting. Bog's fingers abruptly knocked into her hands with irritation. 

“You're not focusing,” Bog muttered at her. 

Marianne wrinkled her nose in annoyance. “Sorry, it's hard.” 

“Don't be sorry; just focus. You're never going to be able to control your magic if you can't focus, Marianne.” Bog glanced over at her, his features stern. 

Marianne pursed her lips together in annoyance. “Well, it's not that easy. You've had years to do this...I only just started.” 

Bog smirked at her. For a moment she felt a burn in her chest. Why did he have to look that way when he smirked! It made her want to equal parts punch him and kiss him. 

Marianne gave her head a vigorous shake...where had that thought come from? Kiss him? But instead of that thought being displeasing, Marianne felt a little odd, as if the idea wasn't all that unpleasant. And that notion led to another thought. His lips...they were nice, they looked as if kissing them would be tender, yet passionate, as if hiding at the corners of his lips was a passion that was terribly hot, that if she released it with a kiss, Bog just might burn through her, but it would be the most exquisite experience. Marianne's eyes widened at the poetic distraction of her own thoughts.. She quickly dismissed the idea (though the thought was not forgotten, settling itself in a corner of her mind where it would burn and grow plaguing her dreams later that night.) 

Bog watched Marianne with his brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what was occurring with her, but she did seem to be having some sort of inner dialogue with herself if the expression on her face was any indication. Her eyes had shifted to the side, her focus not on him, but clearly turned inward, and he noticed a cute little purse to her lips that indicated she was thinking. He watched her, contemplating the pleasing lines of her face, the soft, yet firm curve of her lips, the little tilt of her nose, the way her wildly cut hair fell across her forehead, begging for him to brush it back from her eyes... 

His frown deepened. He could smell her magic like a teasing perfume, summer fields full of flowers, the warmth of the sun blazing down onto one's back, and simultaneously, the coolness of the forest after the sun had set. Bog had to look away from her; the pull he felt toward her was as strong as it was...wrong, stupid. He was sure if he thought about it long enough he could contribute a whole list of other words that told him that anything to do with Princess Marianne was foolish. Besides...why on earth would she look twice at a grumpy old wizard like him? So instead he snapped at her. 

“Marianne, focus,” He repeated in a firm voice, trying to ignore his attraction, reaching out and snagging her hands a little roughly as he cupped them again. 

Marianne took a deep breath doing her best to ignore her own attraction to the wizard across from her. “Okay, okay I can do this.” 

Her brown eyes looked back at the palm of her hands, focusing her will. She felt the warmth then, just as she saw a flame flicker across her palm, the fire only briefly there, dancing across her palm. Then, suddenly it was gone at the same moment the door to the room flew open. Griselda stood in the doorway looking frazzled and angry. 

“Bog! Marianne! That...” Griselda didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before she was swiped aside as Roland glided into the room, throwing his hood back, his arms out. 

“Marianne! I'm here to rescue you!” 

Marianne and Bog both leaped to their feet. 

Marianne snarled, “YOU!” 

Bog hissed, “You!” 

Bog and Marianne turned to look at each other. “You know him?” they both said at the same time. Roland paled when he saw Bog standing next to Marianne. He had thought he recognized the tower, the old woman, but he hadn't been sure. And now, Roland remembered the wizard's face if not his name. 

Roland's voice came out a little high-pitched as he choked out, “YOU!?” 

Bog's eyes narrowed, his voice low and menacing as he repeated, “You.” 

Marianne, realizing there was something going on that she didn't understand, stepped between Bog and Roland when she saw Bog take a step toward her ex-fiance, something dangerous in his eyes. She wasn't sure how Bog and Roland knew each other and while she would love to see Roland get what was coming to him, she didn't want there to be a fight...yet. 

She put a hand on Bog's chest. She noticed the fabric of his robe was soft under her fingertips, but what she found distracting even at this moment was the feel of his chest, he was muscled under all those robes he wore and she could feel it. Her touch stopped him in place. Bog looked down at her, his blue eyes piercing, but he moved no closer to Roland. 

Marianne turned to face Roland, her eyes flashing, one hand lying flat against Bog's chest, the other balled into a fist at her side. “What are you doing here?” 

Then she frowned, really looking at Roland more closely. “And what is wrong with your hair?” 

Marianne had noticed that Roland's “hair” seemed to be askew as if it didn't quite “fit” on his head properly when he had dramatically thrown his hood back. 

Roland, reached up and “adjusted” his hair which looked to be a wig. He glanced nervously at Bog before gazing back at Marianne. Roland smiled at Marianne doing his best to charm her with his words and smile. “I came for you! When I heard you had been sent away...after what you did to me...I just had to come rescue you. I forgive you! Isn't that wonderful of me?” 

“I was not 'sent away' because of what I did to you Roland—I came here to learn. I don't want you here Roland. Go away. And rescue me? You're absurd Roland.” Marianne folded her arms across her chest, turning her back on the blonde man. Roland looked confused. Clearly he had thought his simply showing up would be enough for the princess to forgive him and come running back into his arms. He glanced nervously at Bog who was staring at him with cold blue eyes over the top of Marianne's head. 

“You heard the princess. Leave. Now. Before I turn you into something unnatural, like an ass-headed noble. Or don't you recall before?” Bog's voice was flat but threatening. 

Roland blinked. “You wouldn't dare!” 

Bog's smile was slow and decidedly wicked. “I wouldn't dare? Do you really want to test that?” 

Marianne shifted her position back in front of Bog again, but oddly the gesture (to Roland) seemed more as if she was keeping Bog from doing anything he might regret, protecting that ugly son-of-a-bitch rather than protecting Roland! Roland couldn't believe it! Why was she worried about that creepy old wizard? She should be throwing herself into his arms! He had come to rescue her hadn't he? He had come all the way out here in the middle of nowhere to bring her back to the castle, and with him! She should be overjoyed—this was not going as planned, not at all. 

“Marianne, come on, we can leave together, we can still get married. Just give up this...whatever it is. Did you hear me? I forgive you! I came to take you back to the castle! We can pick up where we left off like nothing had happened.” Roland smiled and he had the audacity to wink at her. 

Bog snarled starting to step around Marianne, except she reached out and put a hand on his chest again. Her touch, though light, was enough to stop him in place, but he glared daggers at Roland, his blue eyes like ice over the top of Marianne's head directed only at Roland. If looks could kill, Roland had no doubt the wizard would have just turned him to ash on the spot. 

Bog's smile grew slowly across his face. It was an extremely unpleasant smile, Roland thought. 

His voice was like poison, thick and menacing when he spoke. “You know, I remember you. You came here looking for a love potion. Except you called yourself Reginald or something foolish like that.” 

Marianne blinked in stunned confusion. 

She turned to look at Bog. “What do you mean love potion, and when?” 

Bog frowned in thought. “It was a few months ago.” 

Bog's eyes turned toward his mother who nodded and responded. “Yes, yes he did. I remember him because he seemed to think he was someone important. Acted like a complete scrote.” 

Marianne threw her hands over her mouth to stop the burst of laughter that followed Griselda's announcement as she looked between Griselda and Bog and then at Roland. It took her a moment to gather herself enough to speak again, glaring at Roland. 

“You...did you come here looking for a love potion to use on me?” 

Roland's eyes shot back and forth like a cornered rat. He took a step backwards, but Bog's mother was blocking the doorway. 

“Well, I might have buttercup, but it's not what you're thinking.” Roland smiled looking nervous. He was having difficulty maintaining his “charming” smile under the intense glares of the three other people in the room. 

Marianne turned to fully face him, her hands balled into fists against her hips, her brown eyes flashing with anger. “What was it for then? Why on earth did you think you needed a love potion?” 

Roland swallowed, his eyes moving nervously around searching for a way to escape his predicament. “It was just, I mean...we were...it was before you caught me...and I thought...” Roland grimaced at his own words, fumbling to find a way to save himself, especially when Marianne took a threatening step towards him. 

“We weren't going through a 'tough' spot Roland. You cheated on me. I caught you.” She took a step toward him. Then her expression turned to one of shock. “You—you were going to use it on me weren't you? Before I caught you cheating, weren't you?!” 

Roland had backed up slowly toward the door, but Griselda had stepped in and shut the door, blocking off Roland's escape and giving him a snarky grin. 

“I...I wasn't going to use it on you Marianne! I mean...I just...” Roland stumbled when he realized the door was blocked. He turned himself around and instead bumped into one of the tables in the room causing several books to fall over as he backed away from Marianne. 

“Then tell me, explain why you came here looking for a love potion.” Marianne was stalking him around the room. Roland was doing this best to keep his distance (the memory of what Marianne did when she caught him cheating came back vividly to his mind...especially since he was now forced to wear a wig after she had burned away all beautiful his hair.) 

“Now, now buttercup. I swear it was nothing like what you are clearly thinking. I was...I was getting it for a friend! Yes! It, it wasn't for me...” Roland held his hands up doing his best to look innocent trying to flash Marianne his smile (which usually got him out of many a bad situation), but the wig had fallen lopsided on his head, the smile laced with fear and confusion and not quite reaching his eyes. 

Marianne was having none of it. Her balled hands had begun to glow softly, as if she had a fire trapped within her fists. 

Griselda made her way around Roland and Marianne, hurrying over to her son's side. Bog was watching the confrontation with an amused expression. 

“Should you...ah stop this?” Griselda asked. 

Bog shrugged. “Maybe, eventually.” 

Griselda chuckled. “You might want to stop her before she sets all your books on fire, Bog dear.” 

Bog frowned then. “Oh...yes, you might be right.” 

* 

Marianne finally had walked Roland around the room until she had him in a corner of the room, effectively trapping him. 

“The truth Roland, now,” Marianne hissed. 

Roland was pressed up against the corner, his eyes darting to the now intensely glowing fists at Marianne's hips, when he finally pouted. “Fine, fine it was for you!!! I wanted to be sure you loved me...that you stayed in love with me!! I wanted to be king and have an army to do what I wanted with!” 

Marianne stopped in front of him glaring. “That is low Roland, even for you.” 

Roland frowned. “But, but look. I came to get you with no potion!” 

Marianne sighed, her anger fading to pure annoyance. “You thought I would be grateful to see you. How stupid do you think I am Roland?” 

Roland looked confused by the question...as if he wasn't sure if he should answer or not.. 

Marianne took a steadying breath. “Get out.” 

Roland frowned. “But...but you can't really want stay here can you?” 

Marianne eyes flashed. “Get out now or I will have Bog turn you into a frog.” 

Roland glanced toward Bog who was smiling brightly at him. “You wouldn't dare?!” 

“Oh, I would,” Bog stated pleasantly. 

Roland swallowed then said almost like a petulant child. “Well....you can't just send me back out into that storm! I'll...I'll get lost or worse!” 

Marianne turned, walking back to Bog. She stopped in front of him looking up, pitching her voice low. “He's right...I...that wouldn't be...right.” 

“And why would I care about what is right or wrong where he is concerned?” Bog asked with a low snarl. 

Marianne frowned giving him a pleading look. She didn't like Roland, but she didn't want to be the cause of his death. 

Bog narrowed his eyes frowning, trying to decide if he wanted this battle with Marianne. Then he groaned rolling his eyes. “Fine, he can stay in the stables.” 

“The stables?” Roland squawked. 

Bog snarled. “Yer lucky yer not staying in them as a horse.” 

Roland squeaked and pushed himself back further into the corner. 

“You can have some bread and cheese and a pitcher of water,” Griselda said with a smile. 

Roland pouted. “What?” 

Bog smiled at his mother. “I think that's a perfect idea. Marianne?” 

Marianne smiled. “I agree.” 

The three of them turned to look at Roland who looked between the three of them. “That's...that's...I'm...I'm royalty!” Roland protested. 

“You're not royalty Roland.” Marianne frowned as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Well, I'm..I'm at least an aristocrat! I deserve better than a bed in a stall and bread and water!” Roland crossed his arms over his chest pushing himself up to stand straight which was ruined by his “hair” slipping sideways further. 

Marianne smiled. “You're an aristocratic who cheated on a princess. You're lucky that you're not getting anything worse Roland. You say one more word and I swear you are going to regret it.” 

Griselda giggled and clapped her hands together. “Alright, I'll go and get your bread and water. Lucky for you the cheese is good, just cut into a new wheel this afternoon.” 

Griselda walked past Roland to open the door. “Come on Ronnie, I'll grab you a blanket from one of the closets.” 

Roland frowned looking pleadingly at Marianne. Bog stalked over reaching out and grabbed Roland by the shoulders, his long fingers squeezing into Roland's shoulder painfully. Bog leaned down, his lips almost touching Roland's ear. “You try anything...you hurt my mother or Marianne, anyone that works for me and I swear you will regret it. Do we understand one another?” 

Roland nodded mutely. Griselda smiled at her son and grabbed Roland's hand. “Come along, you should really lose the wig, it makes the fact that Marianne burned all your hair off that much more noticeable. Have I some great stories...there was this time when Bog's father and I...” 

Griselda dragged Roland from the room, the door closing behind them. 

Marianne sagged. Bog started to reach out to her. He hesitated for a moment before he put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around to face him. His eyes were filled with concern, gentle worry for her, his voice soft. “Are you alright Marianne?” 

She frowned in thought, then smiled. “You know...I am. I'm actually glad he showed up.” 

Her smiled widened. “It was...cleansing. Though the love potion...” She shuddered. “I would never had thought...” 

Bog's lip curled. “I'm glad he came to me and not that witch Plum. She could have given it to him without question. She never does think before she acts...that stuff is vile, a poison that rots and corrodes...” 

Marianne laid her hand against his chest again, stopping him. “Whoa...that's...is that about the potion or about love?” 

Bog frowned adverting his eyes. “Both I suppose,” he said softly. 

Marianne nodded. “You're probably right...love...you just can't trust it.” 

Bog looked up, his eyes meeting Marianne's. 

They shared a smile. 

* 

Roland sat wrapped in a blanket leaning against the wooden wall in one of the unoccupied stable stalls. The sound of the rain hammered against the wooden building. The storm shook the shelter and it smelled like horse manure and hay. He wrinkled his nose, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. The rain caused a deep chill to settle in his bones. He had a magical light that that old woman had given him. It didn't provide any heat, only light. Roland snarled, but then he pulled his cloak up and looked at the pouch he had nestled under his arm. He opened the pouch and peered inside smiling.

He reached in pulling out a tiny bottle, the contents of which glowed a warm pink. He grinned. That fucking wizard Bog didn't want to give him a love potion, but the witch Plum had no such problem. She had cheerfully given him the potion for a small sum of gold. She had told him the instructions and a warning, though the warning hadn't meant anything to him. Real love? What was the difference? Roland shrugged smiling. 

Now, all he had to do was get Marianne alone.


	6. O Rosa bella

Marianne stood in a field of flowers, the smell of which brought a smile to her face as she spun in a circle with her arms outstretched while a gentle breeze blew through her hair and over her skin. She had her eyes closed, enjoying the light wind over her. The only sounds were the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees and the sound of birds in the distance. The princess thought that everything was peaceful and sweet right now. Part of her was aware that she was dreaming, that no place like this existed in her father's kingdom, but the dream was vivid and her sleeping mind ran with the dream. She stood in the field of flowers, her feet bare, her toes digging into the warm blades of grass. 

She opened her eyes slowly. 

The sun shone down with gentle light as she looked around. There in the distance she could see someone approaching her like a shadow, tall and lean, but instead of being afraid she was excited. She watched as the darkness grew, coming closer to her, wisps of shadows reaching behind the figure, whipping around gently with the breeze. The figure glided across the field of flowers, but rather than bringing cold and fear, the shadow brought warmth and happiness. When the shadow stopped in front of her, the darkness melted away and Bog stood there with a smile on his lips for her. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked up into his eyes, his vibrant blue eyes that reminded her of the hints of blue sky when surrounded by heavy dark clouds of rain; a spot of happiness. 

He reached out for her to take her hand. His long fingers wrapped around hers and tugged her closer. She stumbled and laughed... 

Then she woke up; Marianne groaned. She was covered in sweat, her bedclothes and everything else clung to her damp skin. 

“Ugh.” She sat up, pushed the blankets off, and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She ran her hands through her short hair, ruffling her hair and giving her scalp and face a good scrubbing with her hands. She made a groan again as she stood up and stretched her arms over head. 

“What was that all about?” she muttered out loud to herself as she walked over to where the heavy clay pitcher and basin sat near the fireplace on a wooden stand. The water inside the pitcher was luke warm, just enough warmth that she would not be chilled when she splashed some water onto her face. 

She poured the water into the basin and vigorously scrubbed her face, chasing away the remains of the dream. She poured the rest of the water over her head, causing herself to shiver as the lukewarm water ran down her neck and over her face. She reached down to grab the towel, a plain cotton rag, that hung over the side of the wooden stand. She dried herself off as she walked over to the vanity in the room and sat down. Her cheeks were rosy from the water and her eyes bright. She smiled at herself, then chuckled with a muttered. “Dreaming about Bog...what is wrong with you?” 

She picked up her brush. The brush was made from silver, the back of it carved into flowers and vines; a fairy rested on the petals of a rose in the middle of the silver backing. Marianne frowned for a moment as she remembered the flowers in her dream...the way Bog had stood there smiling. Then she pushed the thoughts away and vigorously brushed her short hair. 

“Idiot,” she groused at herself. 

* 

Bog woke with a start, panting, out of breath, a cold sweat rolling down his brow and along the line of his spine soaking the sheet beneath him. He lay on his back, one hand rested on his chest and the other beside him on the mattress. His mother had always teased him that he slept as if he were ready to be buried. Bog laid there unmoving for a while and stared at the ceiling of his bed. He had a heavy canopy that encircled his bed, but the curtains of the canopy were open just enough to let in the watery sunlight from the windows. The light pierced through and landed directly on his eyes....as if the sun was deliberately trying to annoy him. 

Bog sighed and closed his eyes. His dreams had been plagued by that damn princess, Marianne. He had dreamed about her waiting on a hillside; the breeze blowing through her hair, the fabric of her dress whipping in the breeze behind her. She had her eyes closed, her head tilted toward the sun, soaking up the sunlight, and her skin glowing. She had turned when he stepped closer and opened her eyes. Then that smile of hers spread across her face. He smiled at her, held out his hand and Marianne had taken it, tugged him closer, wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her chin against his chest and smiled up at him. 

“My wizard,” she had whispered. 

Bog had run his fingers through her hair, tracing her face and whispered. “My love...” 

But then the dream had changed. Roland stood behind Marianne with a vicious smile on his lips and a nasty look of triumph in his eyes as he grabbed Marianne from behind. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips to her ear. He glared nastily at Bog and whispered: “You can never have her, old man. I will always win.” 

Dream Marianne had reached for Bog. “Help me!!” 

Bog had reached for her, the tips of his fingers brushing hers, but then she was falling away...Roland taking her into a center of darkness... Then he had awoken. Bog frowned. It had been so real...he could still smell the sunlight on her skin, but the terror had been just as real...he could feel the cold running through his blood. 

He hated dreams. His mother had always told him that dreams did one of two things, they showed you your deepest desires or your deepest fears. This dream, he decided, could go either way. He sighed as he sat up and threw his long legs over the side of his bed. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his chin into the cup formed by his hands. His black hair flopped over his forehead making him look innocent, younger...not the scary wizard he tried to be... 

He growled to himself. “Stupid dreams.” 

He shoved his hair back and stood, twisted his neck to crack it before he stalked across his room to his wardrobe. Bog stood there and glared at the clothing inside. He only wore the loose pants he slept in, nothing else. He reached absently over his opposite shoulder to scratch an itch, his long fingers brushing the raised skin of a scar. Along his back were the scars...several of them...a criss-cross of lines...the remains of a punishment he had received. Because of her...that woman, the one he had loved... Bog shook off the sudden memory and grabbed a tunic and slipped it over his head before he stripped out of his pants and grabbed a pair leggings for the day. 

* 

Roland groaned as he stood up; every part of him hurt. He ached in places that he hadn't realized could ache! And he was grumpy. He had dreamed about Marianne...not a good dream either. She had been kissing that wizard!! His stomach rolled at the image. It had been the most disgusting dream he had ever had! The thought of Marianne kissing that—that creature. It made his skin crawl. And then to top it all off, the wizard had taken the love potion and smashed it at Roland's feet. He had felt the potion take hold of him. He had turned away thinking to run, but someone was standing there waiting for him...then he had woken up. 

Roland made a face. Stupid dream. 

Well, Roland grinned, he was going to make sure that never happened, thanks to his secret weapon. He patted the bottle hidden at his side...now if he could just figure out how to use it. There was no way any of this was going to backfire on him because he was Roland and Roland always got what he wanted. 

* 

Griselda was in the kitchen humming softly to herself. She was dressed as she usually was, in a simple cotton dress (this time of a gentle shade of apricot), simple yet sturdy shoes and one of her many aprons. She wore her hair pulled back with a simple white kerchief tied around her head to keep her hair out of her face. She had dreamed as well last night...dreams of her husband. Dreams of old love, but at the edges of her dream had been one of Bog and Marianne. The dream wasn't clear in her memory, but she had seen Marianne in her son's arms. That had been enough that, however, that Griselda had woken up with a smile. 

That was why she felt like humming the song this morning. It was an old song from when she and Bog's father were first married. She remembered the bard, a young man no more than eighteen dressed in striped hose of red and yellow, his tunic a deep gold, sitting on one of the tables as he played his lute and sang softly while Bog's father held her in his arms, his blue eyes looking down at her with such love as he moved around the dance floor on their wedding day. They had both been in their own little world that day; no one else existed except the two of them and the song the bard sang. She wanted that for her son, that unconditional love. 

Griselda sang softly as she kneaded the bread dough, her hands covered in flour while she remembered her wedding and her love, his handsome blue eyes, and that smile... 

* 

O lovely rose 

My sweet soul 

Don't leave me to die 

In courtly love 

Aie, leave me 

in pain, I must end 

in serving well and faithfully loving 

Rescue me already 

from my pining 

Heart of my heart, don't leave me to suffer 

O beautiful rose 

oh my sweet soul 

don't leave me to die in courtly love 

* 

She sang softly while she folded her dough and rolled it into a greased ceramic bowl before she tossed a towel over it to allow the bread to rise. Tears glistened in her eyes as she cleaned her hands and then started preparing some apples to slice up for a tart when Marianne came into the kitchen. The younger woman's face looked slightly pale against the fabric of her lavender dress, as if she hadn't slept well. 

“You all right dear?” Griselda asked as she began to slice the apples. 

“Yes, just...odd dreams. Is Roland gone?” Marianne inquired as she walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a ceramic mug with hand-painted flowers across it. Marianne stopped for a moment to examine the mug. “Oh, this is lovely.” 

Griselda smiled and glanced up for a moment, then turned her attention back to slicing apples. “Bog made that when he was a young man. Those are primroses on the mug; they are symbols of love.” 

“Bog made this?” Marianne twisted the mug around to examine the flowers. The detail was amazing; the hand that painted these was delicate and careful. She could feel the emotions that went into the fragile petals, the details of the green leaves. The work was so fine that the flowers looked almost real. Marianne glanced over at Griselda. 

“Did he make this for someone?” Marianne asked as she walked over to where Griselda had the kettle heating over the fire in the fireplace. Marianne picked up a cloth to wrap around the handle before she lifted the kettle off the fire and poured hot water into the mug. She next walked over to the shelf where Griselda had rows of tiny jars that held a variety of tea leaves, picked out one and pulled out the tea diffuser as she did so. 

“No, Bog made that as part of a spell...a spell to find true love.” The older woman chuckled. “He was young, very young.” 

Marianne held the mug. “It's lovely. Did he...I guess he never found it?” 

Griselda sighed. “No, he didn't.” Griselda frowned as she spared a look at the mug that Marianne was using. “Actually, I don't think he ever finished the spell. That woman showed up and everything went badly after that. That was before we moved here. Bog went through a lot; it soured him on love. I kept the mug though...I thought maybe someday. But...” Bog's mother let the sentence drop. 

Marianne frowned at the expression on Griselda's face. Clearly, whatever Bog had suffered had been more than a simple broken heart. 

Griselda picked up her slices of apple, placed them in a bowl before she picked up a small pitcher containing water. She poured the water over the apples with one hand as she ran her the fingers of her other hand through the slices before she set the pitcher down and picked up the bowl, carefully draining the water from the apple bowl. 

“I told him not to give up. True love is something that comes to you when you least expect it. The boy never did have any patience and now he has hardened himself against ever finding love.” Griselda's lips pinched together in pain, but she said no more. 

Marianne felt it wise to avoid pushing the topic. Instead, she made her tea, examining the flowers one more time before picking up her mug and walking over to where Griselda worked. 

“Can I help you with anything?” the princess asked. 

Griselda pointed. “Grab the sugar there dear—oh and the saffron. You can help me prepare these slices for a tart.” 

Marianne took a quick sip of her tea before she walked over to grab the jars that Griselda had pointed out, and brought them both over to set them beside of the older woman. Marianne pulled up a stool near Griselda and sipped her tea as she watched the older woman work. Griselda walked over to a plate at the far end of the table and pulled the heavy lid off to show a pile of gingerbread. She grabbed a large square piece, brought it over to Marianne, and placed it down in front of her. 

“You should eat some breakfast, my dear. As soon as I get this tart in the oven I'll make you a decent meal.” 

Marianne chuckled. “Thank you. So ah...Bog....” 

“Yes?” Griselda smiled and glanced over at Marianne as she prepared the tart for the oven. 

“I had a dream,” Marianne said quietly while Griselda brought some wine and a bowl over to Marianne. “Mix this, dear, with the sugar, about two cups, and a half teaspoon of ginger until it's thick.” Griselda put a spoon in her hand. Marianne did as she was instructed without asking questions. 

“So, tell me about the dream,” Griselda urged without looking up, simply rolling out her dough then shaping it for the pan she was using. 

Marianne stirred, watching the sugar and wine mix together. “I—I was standing in a field of flowers and Bog was there...” 

Griselda smiled as she sprinkled flour over the dough before she started to line the apple slices inside. “You know...dreams usually show us our inner desires...or our inner fears.” 

Marianne finished stirring. Griselda pointed to a bowl on the counter behind her, by the oven where a bowl of pears set. “Just clean those off. The peeler is in the drawer over there. Leave the stems and leave a small amount on the bottom. We're going to poach those.” 

Marianne nodded, hopped down from her stool and walked over to pick up the bowl. She carried the bowl of pears over and retrieved the peeler. She had just made herself comfortable again and began to peel as Griselda continued. “So, how do you feel about Bog?” 

Marianne blinked and looked up from peeling the pear she had in her hand. “I—I ah...he...” she stammered and then began again. “Well, he's a good teacher, if a little gruff.” 

Griselda laughed softly. “Bog's father was like that. Never was good at expressing his feelings or working with people. I remember thinking it must be a side effect of being noble, but I quickly learned it was his way to deal with them. Bog's father was always nervous around other people and so, to not let on he was nervous, Bog's father was gruff, kept people at arm's length. It was also a way to prevent himself from being hurt. And Bog is a lot like his father in that regard.” 

Marianne sipped her tea between peeling pears. 

“Feelings? Ah...” She glanced down at the pear in her hand, then decided to change the subject. “What was he like? I mean Bog's father?” 

“Oh, he was gorgeous. Bog has his father's eyes...blue like a crisp summer sky.” Griselda's voice took on a dreamy quality. “He was tall, with long dark hair that he always wore braided down his back. He always wore black...until he met me.” The older woman chuckled. “After that, it was shades of blue; he knew I like blue...” 

“How did you two meet?” Marianne had forgotten about the pear in her hand as she listened to Griselda's story. 

“Oh that story is a long one about a prince and a common girl, but I will tell you about the day he told me he loved me.” Griselda smiled softly at the memory. “He had been fighting it for a long time; we were friends. Used to have this game we would play, trying to insult each other. He liked me because I didn't care a bit about his title or his money and I could give just as good as I got. I never let him forget that his fancy titles meant very little to me. I remember the night he showed up at my door, nervous, a worn bit of parchment in his hand, the tips of his fingers stained black with ink. He had struggled to write me a love poem.” Griselda chuckled and her eyes had a far away look in them as she gazed back on the past. 

She shook her head slightly as her mind returned to the present. “I was singing a song from our wedding earlier before you came in. The man could dance—and goodness could he kiss. Along with other things.” Griselda chuckled when she glanced over at Marianne who had turned beet red. 

“But that night, he had struggled to write me a love poem and he showed up at my door angry.” Griselda laughed. “He thrust the parchment at me and snarled. 'Woman! I can't find the words and it's making me angry because you are impossible!'” 

Griselda laughed. “I yelled at him and told him it wasn't my fault he was an idiot. Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. I won't tell you the rest, but it was a magical night.” She gave Marianne a saucy wink which had the younger women blushing again until her ears turned red. 

Marianne was about to ask another question about Bog's father when the door that led out to the yard opened and Roland could be seen standing there. He walked in without a “good morning” or a “pardon me.” Instead he said, as if expecting something to happen, “I'm starving!” 

Marianne stood up. “Roland! Why on earth are you still here?” 

Roland stopped halfway into the kitchen and pouted. He looked terrible. There was still hay sticking out of his “wig” and his clothing was filthy; both women could smell the stall coming off of him from the stable. 

“What do you mean, 'why am I still here?' I slept in that filthy barn, don't you remember?” Roland folded his arms across his chest as he continued to pout. “And I had a horrible night.” 

“I know you slept in the barn, but I was hoping you would have enough brains to leave at first light.” Marianne narrowed her eyes at him. 

Roland continued to stick his bottom lip out like a child, which made Marianne want to hit him and laugh at the same time. 

He muttered unhappily, “Can't a man have a decent breakfast and some provisions before he is forced out?” 

Marianne sighed with a glance at Griselda who frowned. “It's your decision Marianne.” 

“Not to step on any toes, but I think it's actually my decision since this is my home.” 

All three of them turned to see Bog standing in the doorway that led from the tower's central stairwell. He wore a tunic that reached to his knees, made of black velvet with gold designs that flowed along his torso. He had paired it with black leggings and knee high black leather boots. The tunic's sleeves were slit as were the sides of the tunic allowing ease of movement and he wore a black leather belt around his waist. Marianne swallowed when she saw him standing in the doorway, his blue eyes blazing with anger at Roland. 

“Mother, you may pack him a meal for the road and then...” Bog turned the full force of his attention on Roland. “I want you gone within the hour, Roland.” Bog sneered. 

Roland frowned and started to open his mouth, but Bog cut him off. 

“Marianne, if you are ready, we have lessons.” 

Marianne frowned, but stood up and wiped her hands off. She glanced at Griselda who smiled. 

“Go on dear, I'll take care of Roland.” 

Marianne nodded with a last glare at Roland. “You be nice to her or else.” 

Roland tried to look upset, but he only ended up look like a petulant child. 

* 

Bog stomped through the stairwell toward the main doors and threw them open in irritation. Marianne followed him outside into the weak sunlight. The grounds around the tower were damp after the rain last night. There were puddles in places where the ground dipped and soggy places everywhere, though Bog stomped through them without a second thought. Marianne saw Thang working over in the gardens. The short man was doing something she couldn't quite see when he saw them marching by and he stood up, leaned against his rake, and waved. Marianne smiled and waved back, though Bog didn't react at all. 

“Where are we going?” Marianne picked her skirts up and jogged to keep up with him. 

Bog growled. “I'm going to teach you a useful spell that will keep you safe.” 

Marianne frowned. “What do you mean keep me safe? Is something going to happen?” 

Bog's voice was a growl. “In the event that you ever need to defend yourself against—well I don't know, just anything.” 

Marianne watched the way his back stiffened. He really was agitated. Roland? Probably...Roland had a way of rubbing people wrong, even before she knew what sort of man he was... 

“Why are we going so far from the tower?” Marianne shoes made a disgusting sucking sound as she happened to step on a particularly gooey patch of ground. Bog kept moving and never looked back to see if she was keeping up with him. 

They arrived at the edge of the open fields and gardens, entering into a more heavily wooded area that bordered the edges of Bog's lands. The trees became thicker, then thinned out until Bog finally stopped in a clearing. The clearing was a large grassy areas with tall trees bordering all around. There was an ancient tree stump off to the left and the remains of a tree that looked as if it had been hit by lightning a long time ago just a couple of steps from the stump. 

Bog stopped by the burned out tree. “This is an area I like to use to practice new or more dangerous spells.” 

Marianne gazed around. “What are we going to do?” 

“You are going to learn an attack spell.” Bog motioned her to stand off to the right and behind him. “Just watch me.” 

Marianne frowned. “But Bog, why do I need to learn attack spells all of a sudden?” 

Bog snarled. “Because men like Roland are everywhere. You can't trust anyone and you need to know not just how to use a sword, but how to use your magic when you have no other weapons.” 

Marianne could see that Bog was still angry. Really angry. 

“Bog?” Marianne started to walk over to him, but Bog turned and pointed. “Stay right there and don't move until I tell you to! Can you just listen for once without ARGUING WITH ME!” Bog snapped and turned away from her. 

Marianne jerked at the tone in his voice. She narrowed her eyes dangerously. Marianne, Princess Marianne, did not like being spoken to in that tone of voice...by anyone. Her hands balled into fist at her sides. She was completely unaware of the fire that began to glow in her clenched palms. 

Bog, unaware of the what he had just done, angry, worried...scared....he turned to face the burned tree. He brought his hands up swiftly, pulled his hands close to his body and then, with a quick, aggressive gesture forward, Bog threw his hands out, his hands forming claws. 

A bolt of bright red and orange flames, shaped for a moment like a bolt from a crossbow, shot across the distance between Bog and the tree. Marianne had been about to say something to him about talking to her like he had, the glow of her hands burning brighter, when she saw the bolt shoot out from Bog to slam into the tree with such force that he blew a hole straight through the dead tree with a loud detonation. The hole was a burning circle of red and black, the tree standing for just a heartbeat before the top collapsed into the bottom half of the tree, the whole thing falling into a burning pile of dead wood. 

Marianne stood staring at the damaged dead wood with her mouth hanging open, the glow of her hands fading. 

Bog stared too. The spell should not have been that powerful. He was more upset than he had thought...Bog turned toward Marianne who stared at the remains of the tree. She looked at Bog and blinked slowly. Bog felt his heart drop. Now she would go...she would run home...terrified of him. 

Marianne licked her lips, still staring at the tree, then looked at Bog. 

* 

Roland sat on a stool while Griselda made him a bundle of food to take with him. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to stay so he could get a chance to use the love potion (which he had hidden in the stables). He was racking his brain trying to think of anything that would keep him here long enough when his eyes landed on the knife block. There were several knives sticking out of it. If he was hurt, they couldn't force him to ride off could they? None of them were healers...he would have to heal the old fashioned way. A stab wound to the palm of his hand...that might work. Nothing serious, really, but enough to buy him a day, maybe two because he couldn't be expected to ride if he couldn't hold the reigns...right? 

Griselda had just turned around to grab some cheese which Roland decided to move. He launched himself off the stool...too quickly...and fell...slammed his head against the counter. 

Griselda turned with a gasp at the sudden sound to find Roland lying on the floor unmoving, a pool of blood spreading out from his head. 

“OH!”


	7. Fire Flowers

Marianne was still staring at what Bog had done. She had heard stories of wizards, sorcerer's with real power, but she had always assumed they were only stories. But now...Bog...she knew he was the real thing, not just a minor wizard, but a true and powerful one...one that others were rightly afraid of. She had seen his magic, but this...it was...she was at a loss for words. She wasn't scared or upset; rather, she was impressed and amazed, if a bit startled. Bog, on the other hand, was terrified and mortified. He had tried to make her leave, had even said he wanted her to leave, but that was far from the truth. If he was honest with himself, he wanted her to stay, enjoyed her company, enjoyed teaching her to focus her power, but now, as with everything in his life, he had found a way to ruin it. Bog threw his hands behind his back as if trying to hide what he had just done before he turned and stomped off back toward the tower, his face locked in a scowl. He didn't know what to do except leave. 

Marianne watched him turn and walk away. She could tell by the way he held his shoulders and his back that he was upset. She glanced back at the remains of the tree then at his retreating back before she ran to catch up with him reaching for his sleeve. “Bog?” 

Bog flinched when she touched him and stopped in his tracks without looking at her. “I...I understand if you want to leave now.” 

Marianne stopped and frowned in confusion. “Bog, that was...incredible! I have never seen anything so amazing. I mean, I've read about wizards with power like that in books, but to see it myself...” 

Bog turned to look down at her, confusion in his blue eyes, but before he could say anything to her they both heard the sound of Bog's mother shouting. 

“BOG!! BOG!! I NEED YOUR HELP!!” 

Bog glanced at Marianne, the two of them sharing a look of concern before they took off together, running across the field toward Griselda. 

* 

The three of them looked down at Roland then they all shared a look. 

Marianne sighed. “The idiot.” 

She thought to herself that this was just perfect, now he would be staying here longer. Roland was lying on the cot that Bog had wrestled out of storage and set up in the kitchen (not really knowing where to put him and not exactly wanting Roland to be anywhere else in the tower, the kitchen seemed the best option). Roland had a bandage across his forehead, a spot on it was red from where blood had soaked through the bandage. Bog snarled glaring down at the unconscious man. 

“I swear to the gods I think he did it on purpose,” Bog muttered. 

Marianne looked disgustedly at Roland. She was surprised at her lack of sympathy for the man. Dolt, she thought. “So what are we going to do?” 

Griselda sighed and rubbed her hands down the front of her apron. “Well, I guess we're going to have to let him stay until he's healthy enough to travel.” 

Bog muttered something under his breath Marianne didn't quite catch, but she did heard “bollocks” and “shit”. 

Marianne looked between Bog and Griselda. “Should we send for a healer?” 

Griselda made a rude noise, throwing up a hand dismissively. “No, no, I'm twice the healer of anyone else within miles of here. No, I can handle this, no worries. And though it pains me to say it, I won't poison him.” Griselda chuckled. 

Bog sighed. “Fine, but let's keep him confined to the kitchen, agreed mother?” 

Griselda smiled. “Agreed. So, you two go on and do some more learning and teaching. I have this under control and I need to get started on lunch if you two want a hot one. Now shoo, out of my kitchen!” 

Griselda chased them both out of her kitchen. She turned around to look at her “patient” and sighed. 

* 

Bog took the stairs to the study two at a time though he was quiet as he did so with Marianne trotting behind him, also taking the stairs two at a time in her attempt to keep up with him. After a couple of moments of quiet Marianne asked softly, “Why did you expect me to leave?” 

Bog stopped on the stairs, his back to her. He didn't turn around to face her, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. The urge to reach out and touch him was strong enough that she even raised her hand, but stopped herself, her fingers scant inches away from him. 

Finally she heard him sigh. “It's one thing to know I use magic, to show you simple spells, but it's another thing entirely to realize exactly how dangerous I could be.” 

Marianne pressed her lips together. “People are scared of you.” It wasn't a question, just a simple statement. 

“Yes,” Bog said quietly and continued up the stairs with Marianne continuing to follow him. 

He opened the door and held it open to allow her to enter first. 

“You know, after what I did to Roland, people at court were scared of me too.” She pointed out as she took a seat by the window after she entered the study. 

Bog stepped in and immediately went to the shelves and took down a few books. He stopped and turned to Marianne. “I'm sorry. No one should be afraid of you.” 

She shrugged. “I was scared of myself too.” She was quiet for a moment before she asked. “Can you teach me to do that?” 

Bog, who had moved over to his desk, starting to look through the stack of books glanced over in surprise. “Seriously?” 

“Yes! If I have this power, I want to learn to focus it, to test the limits of what I can do. People are going to be scared, but...” Marianne spoke excitedly, but Bog cut her off. 

Bog frowned. “You're a princess.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Marianne crossed her arms over her chest. “Just because I'm a princess doesn't mean I won't ever need to fight. Can you imagine if I could do something like that?!” She grinned. “No one would ever question my right to rule or try to take the throne. I just want my people to know that I am able and willing to protect the kingdom.” 

Bog flopped down onto his chair, confusion plain across his features. “Why would anyone question that or try to remove you from the throne?” 

Marianne shrugged. “Well, because I don't want to marry for one thing.” 

Bog looked surprised as his eyebrows rose. “Really?” 

“Yes. I mean—I'm not opposed to the idea, but I don't want to be forced into a political marriage. Not after...Roland. I want to rule alone. If someone shows up who I can look in the eye and I don't want to punch him, then maybe. But until then I want my kingdom and my father to know I can rule alone, that the kingdom is safe with me on the throne. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I want my people to know that I can protect them.” Marianne repeated herself as she glanced out the window. She didn't notice Bog's smile. 

“All right. I'll teach you, but be warned Marianne, it's dangerous. If you lose control, if you allow your emotions to take over, it will not end well. It's a delicate balance; you need your emotions for the magic, but you have to be careful not to lose control.” Bog leaned forward to lay his elbows on his desk as he steepled his fingers and looked at the princess seriously. “And it will require a great deal more from you than simply creating a flame.” 

Marianne grinned. “When do we start?” 

Bog chuckled. 

* 

Over the next few days, things were relatively peaceful. Griselda worked on nursing Roland while Bog began teaching Marianne more “aggressive” uses of her magic, punctuated with warnings and introductions to magical theory. 

This morning Bog was taking her outside again. It was early morning, the sky a liquid grey. It had rained the night before, making the ground feel mushy underfoot. As Marianne followed behind Bog,(who was dressed all in black looking like a stalking shadow) she kept having to stop and struggle to get her leather boots and the hem of her lilac silk dress out of the mud. She finally bent over and grabbed the back of her skirt, pulling it between her legs and tucking it into the leather belt she wore around her waist, making herself a pair of makeshift pants. Bog had stopped when he realized Marianne wasn't behind him. He watched her with an amused expression. He liked watching her when she wasn't aware of him; when she wasn't aware of being watched, she let down her defenses. Marianne had a ready smile, dancing eyes and Bog had never met someone who could laugh at herself the way Marianne could. When she thought no one was watching her, she would make the cutest faces as she concentrated on reading a text he had given her, or when she was practicing summoning a flame in the palm of her hand and controlling it. The look of sheer delight on her face when she understood something she was reading, had a revelation or when she made the flame move to her will...it was adorable. Just like now, watching her make herself a pair of pants from her dress was...cute, although Bog was uncertain how cute she would be if he were to call her 'adorable.' Marianne was not at all like any princess he had ever met, not that he had met many, but the few he had were nothing like Marianne. She was unique. Marianne was neither vain nor haughty; she was not stupid or blind. She was, he admitted to himself, the most intelligent and beautiful woman he had ever met and he enjoyed the time he spent with her. 

As she worked on making her “pants” Bog smiled. “Why don't you just wear pants?” Bog asked. 

Marianne looked up from what she was doing. “What?” 

“Why bother with the dress? Just wear a pair of pants,” Bog said plainly. Marianne frowned then grinned. “Do you think your mother would sew me a pair?” 

Bog nodded. “Aye, she would. Now if you're done,” he said, only partially serious, “we still have a little ways to go.” 

Marianne nodded, grinning happily at the idea of a pair of pants, but what also made her smile was the fact that Bog had suggested it. Her father would have a fit if he knew about her wanting to wear a pair of pants. She could hear him now. “A princess doesn't wear pants! A princess must dress as a princess.” 

Marianne chuckled, following close behind Bog with a smile on her face. 

* 

Roland was laying on the cot watching Griselda cook. He was dressed in one of Bog's old shirts, the damn thing hanging on him like a dress and no breeches, which was embarrassing. Roland had been dizzy the last few days, unable to move from the cot without assistance. This was not his plan exactly, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if it was a painful horse. His accident had provided him with time to use the potion. Now, he just needed some sort of plan, some idea, a chance alone to figure out how he was going to dose Marianne with the love potion. 

Roland sat on his cot watching Griselda cook while his thoughts wandered to what he was going to do. She was making him porridge. The smell of the vegetables simmering in the broth, mixed with the heady scent of oats actually smelled good...which he hated to admit because porridge was peasant food and Roland did not eat peasant food! But his stomach growled loudly despite what he wanted to think about peasants. 

Griselda was working at the large counter in the middle of the kitchen. Her frizzy red hair was braided and wrapped around the top of her head as she worked, though a few strands had come loose to frame her face in a way that oddly reminded Roland of his mother. His mother would put her hair up like that before she would go to work in the gardens. Roland's father had hated when his mother would do that, yelling at her that royalty did not work in the mud like common people. But his mother had just smiled and continued to do what she did. Roland shook the memories of his mother away. He missed his mother more than he cared to admit. She was one of the only people who had truly loved him. Roland wasn't sure that his father ever actually cared. He saw Roland as a tool, a pawn to be used. Roland pressed his lips together, brushing aside the unpleasant memories. 

Griselda stopped what she was doing to rub her hands on her apron, working out the stiffness of her fingers before she went back to rolling out the dough she had been kneading just a moment before. She reached over for the knife (a wickedly sharp knife Roland noticed) and cut the brown dough into squares that she then placed on a sheet for sliding into the large stone oven. So far the blasted woman hadn't left him alone for more than a couple of minutes at most. 

Roland sighed laying back on his pillow. He was thankful they hadn't found the potion on him when he hit his head. That would have been the first thing he would have done, searched, but he was naturally suspicious; you never knew what someone might be carrying, but clearly these dolts were too trusting. 

Griselda spoke without looking over at him. “Your breakfast will be ready soon. Would you like some tea while you wait?” 

Roland sat up again with a slight inflated air as he muttered, “I guess I will have some tea.” 

Griselda smiled just slightly after sliding the biscuits in to bake and wiping her hands on her apron. “All right then.” 

She picked up the kettle from where it was sitting on the hearth. It still had plenty of water in it from last night, so she set it on the hook in the fire place, letting the flames dance under the metal kettle, heating the water while she walked over to the cabinet that hung far enough up that only Bog could reach it without difficulty. She pulled up a chair that sat in the corner, hopping onto it and opened the cabinet. She pulled out a jar that sat near the back. The jar was ceramic with a corked top. The grey, glazed ceramic was painted with black flowers that swirled around the container. 

Roland watched her with a quizzical expression since he had seen her make tea from the jars that lined the wall near the oven. Clearly this was something special she was after which made him wonder what was so special about this tea that she kept it up in that cabinet. 

“What is that?” Roland frowned with concern. 

Griselda smiled setting the jar down. “This is some of the rarest and mostly highly prized tea in the world.” 

Roland made a face that clearly said he doubted that. “Why would you have it then?” 

Griselda narrowed her eyes at him. “Boy, not everything that is wonderful or expensive ends up in the court of kings you know.” 

Roland started to protest when Griselda pointed at him. “Just close your mouth and you might learn something. This tea comes from a far off land, it's called the Imperial Red Robe.” 

Griselda opened the jar and pulled out a pinch of the tea leaves. Roland could see that the leaves were actually red and almost immediately the kitchen was filled with a rich, pleasant, earthy scent. 

“What's it do?” Roland asked trying and failing to keep the awe out of his voice. 

Griselda grinned. “It tastes damn good is what it does.” 

Roland frowned looking confused which made Griselda laugh. “And it speeds healing.” 

“What's it taste like?” Roland asked sitting up further. 

Griselda smiled turning to grab two heavy ceramic mugs down from hooks on the wall. “It tastes like wood, flowers, and chocolate.” 

Griselda grinned as she went about making the tea. Roland watched her, fascinated despite himself as she did what looked like a complicated series of steps to make the tea. 

As she worked, the scent of the forest grew stronger. Roland would never admit it, but it was a rather nice fragrance. 

After a few minutes, Griselda was pouring the water through the leaves and into the mugs. 

“Now, you're supposed to drink this plain, no sugar or cream,” she said as she finished and walked over to hand Roland his mug. 

Roland made a face. “Really? I always have cream and sugar.” 

“Well, you're just going to have to try something new aren't you?” Griselda pulled up the chair and sat down by Roland's cot, rolling her own mug between her hands. 

Roland sniffed at the tea. He would never say it aloud, but the tea smelled divine. He eased the mug up to his lips and sipped the warm fluid. As the tea hit his tongue, it was like there was an explosion in his mouth. The taste of wood and chocolate dominated and filled his senses. He was reminded of his childhood when his mother was alive, running through the forest, barefoot, while the two of them played together. His mother teaching him the names of wildflowers... 

Griselda smiled watching Roland. She didn't know what memories the tea was recovering for him, but she could see they were bittersweet. Perhaps there was a soul in his young man after all... 

For her the tea brought back memories of her time with her husband when she was pregnant with Bog. Memories of her husband singing to her stomach while running his hand over her, Bog kicked in response to his father's voice. She remembered him laughing and tapping her stomach back as he whispered. “I'm here little one, yer daddy is here. I'll be so excited to show you everything, my little Bog.” 

Griselda smiled sadly, if only the fates had been kind and given him more years to be a daddy... 

* 

Outside, Bog had finally stopped walking. It felt as if they had walked for miles and miles, but when they crested the hill, Marianne stopped in her tracks with a look of wonder on her face. They had come to the ruin of a once grand castle. 

Bog smiled and pointed. “This once belonged to a lord, hundreds of years ago, until the family died out.” 

Marianne walked around slowly. Most of the castle was gone, the only things remaining were walls and a few doorways. “So why are we here?” 

Bog grinned. “To work on destroying things.” 

* 

Bog was standing behind Marianne, speaking as she focused her attention on a crumbling bit of stone wall. She was acutely aware of his presence behind her. The urge to drop back into his arms was strong enough that she almost took a step backwards into him. 

“I didn't have you bring your sword because you want to be able to simply bring the fire into existence for this sort of power. A sword would hinder you, it would confine you to the shape and feel of the sword. You want to be able to let the fire go, to give it power without confining it.” His voice was soft, and the slightly accented words flowed over her. 

She heard him move, though his footsteps were nearly silent as Bog moved over to stand beside her. “The key is emotion; your emotions will feed the magic more than your focus or will, so please be careful. Because you are using your emotions, if you're not careful you can lose control easily.” He nodded to her. “Watch me first.” 

Bog turned and focused on the remains of the wall he had chosen. He ran his long fingers through his hair to push it back from his face. Using too much power made him nervous. He was always afraid there would be that time he would lose control of it, that the magic would control him instead of him controlling it, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He was a master, he knew what he was doing. Doubt had no place in his thoughts. 

Bog stared at the stones, imagining that the wall was Roland, his perfect smug face, that arrogant air, that curl to Roland's lip that made Bog want to hit him in the face with his fist. Bog pulled his arms back, keeping them close to his body, his hands open, palms out, his fingers held almost claw-like to form and contain the magical energies. As Marianne watched, she could see the beginning of a glow around Bog's hands. Fire seemed to whip around his fingers, weaving through the digits building with energy. She detected a slight tremor to Bog's arms. She wasn't sure what that meant, but it frightened her, watching him struggle for control. The man was more powerful than he let on, and the fact that this made him struggle...how much magic did he actually have access to? She glanced up at his face; his eyes were focused on the stone wall, but she could see a hint of flame...a shadow around the blue of his eyes. She could sense that he was gathering the spell slowly for her benefit so that she would be able to see what he was doing, but she sensed that if he wanted, he could blast the wall in a matter of seconds. 

Bog suddenly threw his arms out, twin balls of fire streaked from his outstretched hands. The two masses were perfectly round spheres of molten fire that ripped through the air, flames dancing around the spheres (Marianne was amazed at the beauty of what Bog had created), but in the next second the fireballs slammed into the wall. Marianne gasped and threw her arms up to protect herself as the wall shattered, bits and pieces of stone flying everywhere. 

Bog frowned as he straightened up. Again, the spell was far more powerful than he intended. Roland really got under his skin, Bog realized...the little weasel of a man. 

Marianne looked over at the remains of the wall as she slowly lowered her arms from her face. She glanced at Bog, a smile dancing across her features. “That was...amazing.” 

Bog shook his head. “That was dangerous. That sort of power takes a lot of control Marianne and when your emotions become part of the spell it becomes more dangerous still. Which is why you need to practice, you need your emotions to help fuel the magic, but you have to practice control or something that destructive could hurt not just others, but yourself.” 

Bog motioned with his hand toward another bit of wall and took a step back. Marianne took a breath. She glanced at Bog mimicking his movements that he had just done with his arms and hands. Bog watched her nodding his head in approval. 

Marianne focused on her magic. She could feel it like a ball burning in her chest, then racing down her arms, filling the palms of her hands. She glanced down with a smile as she saw the balls of fire there, nothing like what Bog had done, but the fire was there none the less. She brought her eyes back to the stone wall. The fire burned, sparking her feelings of betrayal, the pain and the anger that Roland had caused in her, the magic seemed to not only bring those feelings to mind, but it fed them. Then when she felt she couldn't hold the fire any longer, Marianne threw her hands out. 

The two balls she had created changed shape, morphing into fiery flowers. Marianne let out a gasp of surprise the moment the flowers hit the wall, burning through the stone instead of smashing it as Bog's fire had. The flames melted their way through the stone, dissolving into smoke on the other side. Bog frowned raising an eyebrow in astonishment. 

“How on earth did you do that?” He turned to face Marianne who covered her mouth with both hands and mumbled. “I have no idea!” 

Bog frowned rubbing his chin. “But...you shouldn't have been able to change the shape or cause enough heat to melt through the stone...” 

Marianne watched him. “What does that mean?” 

Bog turned to look at her. Marianne had been worried what she would see in his eyes, but all she saw was intrigue and wonderment. 

* 

Late that night, Griselda made her way up the stairs to the study. She had brought them dinner, a traditional meal of blawmanger, up in the study. When Bog and Marianne had returned, the two of them had scampered upstairs going straight for Bog's books and had been shut up here since lunch time. 

Griselda stood in the doorway with her tray, the two bowls filled to the brim with just barely enough room for the spoons. She sighed when she saw her son. Bog was at his desk with several dozen books opened around him, several candles burning in various places on the desk along with several magical orbs of light floating over his head, casting light around him as he read though the books, one after another. 

Griselda frowned when she saw him, his lunch setting on a stack of books untouched. Marianne had a similar stack of books around her on the floor in front of the fireplace, along with several of her own orbs floating over her head (and judging by the color they were Bog's.) Interesting, his mother thought, Bog providing magic for Marianne. It was sweet. Marianne's own lunch sat untouched as well. 

Since they had returned earlier that day, the two of them had been searching the books trying to find out how or why Marianne's fireballs had turned into flowers and why they had simply melted through the stone instead of blowing it apart as Bog's magic had done. (They had given Griselda a quick run down of what had happened before they had run upstairs.) Griselda glared at the two of them—enough was enough. 

“All right, put the books away and come down to the dining room for dinner. I am not serving you again in this room.” Griselda snarled. 

Marianne and Bog jumped a foot, both of them knocking books down. 

“MOTHER, by the spirits! You could have caused me to knock over a candle or blast you by accident!” Bog stood up with a growl, but his mother was unmoved. “Bog, get your skinny hiney downstairs for dinner. You too Marianne.” 

Griselda turned and stomped away with their dinner, both of them heard her muttering. “Not eating, obsessed with magic...thinking they can just survive on air...” 

Marianne giggled covering her mouth looking at Bog. “I think she's upset with us.” 

Bog muttered walking over to the door. “Yeah...I suppose we should go eat...” 

Marianne stood and walked toward the door. As she passed Bog, her fingers brushed against his hand. “Come on.” She smiled up at him. 

Bog swallowed. Where she had touched his hands it felt as if fire had raced up his arm and through his body. 

Silently, not trusting himself to speak, Bog followed her down the stairs. 

* 

Roland was pouting at Griselda. “Why can't I eat in the dining room?” 

“Because Bog doesn't want you wandering the tower and you are on bed rest AND I don't want you bothering Marianne,” Griselda muttered as she poured some blawmanger in a bowl for him and walked over to set it on his lap. 

“Roland, you are an attractive young man, you could have any woman you want, why are you so focused on Marianne?” Griselda pulled a seat around to sit next to him, folding her arms over her chest glaring at him. 

Roland pouted stirring his blawmanger. “Well, I mean, yes I suppose, but Marianne is a princess...” 

“So this isn't about a beautiful woman, or love—it's about power?” Griselda asked. Roland frowned deeper, staring into his food. Griselda reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Boy, you need to take a serious look at yourself. Power is fleeting, love is eternal. If you can be lucky enough to find a woman who loves you, just as you are, then you need to hold on to her with both hands. Whatever it is you are trying to get by going after Marianne...it is only going to end badly for you both.” 

Roland pouted and said nothing. 

* 

Bog followed Marianne down to the dining room where they found that Griselda had set their food. The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly providing the dining room a warm happy glow. There were two bowls of blawmanger as well as leche frys in lentoun for dessert and a pitcher of potus ypocras along with two ceramic mugs. His mother had also littered the room with lit candles and wreathes of bay laurels and evergreens that made the room smell warm and inviting. 

Bog stopped in the doorway frowning. “Why would she...?” Bog muttered in confusion. 

Marianne smiled. “It looks like...oh..” 

The room looked romantic, with the candlelight, the fireplace, the meal set out for two.... 

Bog and Marianne looked at each other, they were just about to say something when there was sudden , loud banging at the front door of the tower. 

Marianne and Bog both jumped a foot into the air. Bog turned with a snarl. “Who could be here at this hour?!” 

Bog turned, taking long angry strides to the door. He flung the door open, a hiss on his lips to see a young woman shivering on his doorstep. Her eyes were frantic, wide with fear. “Master King!! Master King!! Please I need your help!” she reached out grabbing for Bog. He caught her as she fell forward and passed out. 

Bog glanced at Marianne in confusion. 

* 

Bog carried the young woman down to the kitchen and his mother. 

“Move Roland,” Bog snarled. Roland nearly fell out of the cot as Bog walked forward setting the young woman down. She was tiny, with pale skin and long brown hair, a smattering of freckles across her nose. She was pretty in a delicate way. Roland, wearing only Bog's old oversized shirt, frowned standing up holding his bowl to his chest. “Who is she?” 

Bog spared a look up at him. “I don't know yet.” 

Marianne stepped forward brushing the young woman's hair from her face. “Can we wake her up?” 

Griselda hurried. “Hold on, give me a moment.” 

Griselda reached into a cabinet to pull out a small jar. She quickly hurried over and held the small bottle of whatever it was under the young woman's nose; in a couple of moments the young woman sat up her eyes flying open to reveal almost crystal colored grey eyes. “Master King? Help me?!” 

Bog stepped forward crouching down, taking the young woman's hands holding them gently between his much larger hands. “Miss, I'm Master Bog. Now what can I do for you? Tell me what you need my dear. Where have you come from?” 

Marianne watched Bog, a small smile on her face. He was being so gentle with the young woman, caring. 

“My mother...” she sobbed softly. “ I need your help, someone has cursed her. I'm—I'm from Colmar.“ 

“Colmar? That a day's journey on horseback...” Bog whispered in shock then he looked back at the young woman. “Cursed her?” Bog frowned. “How do you know it's a curse?” 

Bog was gently stroking the back of the young woman's hands with his thumbs, easing her stress. 

“I...” The young woman shivered. “Her eyes turned black.” 

Bog gently set her hands down on her lap. “Were there others?” 

The distraught woman nodded. He frowned and stood up. “I need to leave right away. I want you...” Bog looked down at the young woman. She spoke softly. “Lily, my name is Lily, but it's my mother Aster who is afflicted.” 

Bog gave her a gentle smile. “If what is wrong with your mother is what I think it is, you are safer here. Trust me to take care of her for you.” 

Marianne walked over beside Bog. “I'm going with you.” 

Bog started to protest, but Marianne put her finger up, pressing it against his lips. Bog stared at her. “I'm going, no argument,” Mariane said sternly. 

Roland looked between the two of them. “Then I”m coming too!” 

Bog and Marianne turned to look at Roland and at the same time snarled. “NO!” 

Lily jumped, her eyes going wide, as did Roland's. Griselda stepped over. “Get yourselves ready, I will make packs for the both of you. And promise me you'll both be careful.” Griselda looked at her son with concern in her eyes. Marianne could tell that Griselda had to have some idea of what they were dealing with...she wanted to ask questions, but she sensed it wouldn't be good in front of Lily. 

Roland tried one more time. “I could...” 

Bog, Marianne and Griselda all turned and yelled at him. “NO!” 

Griselda snarled at Roland. “You are going to stay here with me and help Lily while Bog and Marianne go to help her mother.” 

Roland nodded silently. 

Lily reached out and grabbed Marianne and Bog's hands. “Thank you—thank you both.”


	8. Douce Dame Jolie

Bog led the way up the stairs having stopped at a closet in the hall first to grab two packs. 

“We'll need to bring a few books, some spell components, extra clothing, food and I want you to bring your sword,” Bog was saying as he handed her the extra pack made from a heavy rough leather. 

Marianne nodded. “All right. Bog, what's going on?” 

Bog stopped and turned to gaze at her, his blue eyes troubled. “I'm not sure...yet. But if it's what I think it is, we need to be prepared the best we can.” 

“What do you think it is?” Marianne asked again, her voice soft with concern. 

Bog sighed. “It sounds as if someone summoned something evil Marianne—it could be demonic...” Bog shook his head. “Fools messing with things they shouldn't be...mostly likely someone had just enough magical ablilty to be dangerous.” He muttered and turned, started back up the stairs. 

“Demonic?” Her eyes widened. 

Bog frowned as he stopp on the first step with his back still to her, then he glanced over his shoulder. “I don't know for sure, there are many things it could be Marianne, none of them good, but a demon being the most serious.” 

“Can...can you do something about it?” Marianne asked, her voice hushed. 

Bog sighed. “Maybe. I don't know, but Marianne, if anything goes wrong you have to swear to me you will leave as quickly as you can. Don't try to help me. Leave. Swear to me.” 

Bog turned fully around on the stairs and surprised Marianne by grabbing her by her upper arms. His eyes were intense, the blue almost seemed to glow, as he stared down at her. “Promise me,” he repeated. 

Marianne swallowed, her brown gaze intense. “Bog, I won't...I can't just leave you if you're in trouble. Let me help.” 

“I am. I'm bringing you with me against my better judgment because I might need your help, but I won't bring you if you don't swear to leave me behind if things go out of control,” Bog snarled at her, the press of his fingers around her arm tightened. 

Marianne glared at him, poking him hard in the chest with her finger hard enough that he took a step back releasing his grip on her, but she pursued him, continuing to poke him in the chest. 

“Don't you even think you can tell me what to do Bog! I am my own person! If I say I'm staying to help you, I will! AND don't you dare think you are going to leave me behind either!” 

Bog stared at her in shock at the venom behind her words, but another part of him was actually thrilled that she was so pig-headed that she would defy him. Bog smiled then. 

Marianne looked confused at the change in his expression. 

Bog chuckled. “I would never dream of making you do anything against your will Marianne.” 

With that, Bog nodded, turned, and took the stairs two at a time to the study. Marianne followed him quickly up the stairs, nearly leaping the stairs to keep up with him. 

* 

Once he had pushed the door to the study open, Marianne watched as Bog quickly searched through his books, grabbing several and shoving them into his back while handing several smaller volumes to Marianne. He finished with his pack, then turned to face her. “All right, go to your room get a couple of changes of clothing. I—I will give you a pair of a my leggings for the ride. You will want to be as comfortable as possible since this ride will be at least a day's journey; we will have to camp at least once before we get there if the weather cooperates with us.” 

Marianne nodded as she shoved the books he had handed her into her sack and hurried to her bedroom. Bog watched her go. He prayed he had made the right decision by bringing her along. But he didn't have time to ponder the right or wrong of the decision, Marianne would be coming now whether he liked it or not...as she had told him so eloquently. He smiled rubbing the spot on his chest where she had poked him and hurried to his own room with a smile on his lips. 

* 

When they were both finished with packing, they met down in the kitchen where Griselda had made several packs of food for them to take with them. The older woman sighed when she looked at the two of them. “It's not enough food to get you back, so make sure you get supplies while you're there if you can.” 

She rubbed her hands on her apron, the fear and worry clearly etched on her features. Bog put his hands on his mother's shoulders. 

“I promise to be careful mother and I will keep Marianne safe,” Bog vowed softly. 

She lifted her head to look up at her son. “You had better come back Bog. I can't lose you too.” 

Bog nodded and wrapped his arms about his mother. Marianne pressed her lips together feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes. She turned around to give them a moment of privacy, but she felt Griselda reach out, her fingers snagging hold on the cloth of Marianne's dress and tugged her into their embrace. 

Bog's cheeks burned, but he allowed his mother to move his arm around Marianne. Marianne felt a pleasant, liquid heat move through her at the feel of Bog's hand on her shoulder. It was as if his fingers were burning through the cloth to heat her skin in a pleasant fashion. 

Bog was acutely aware of Marianne's body pressed against his side, her arm going around his thin waist. They shared a glance, but quickly looked away from one another. The older woman had her arms around both of them, tugging them together into a tight knot. 

“Promise me you will keep each other safe?” Griselda whispered. The older woman wasn't crying, but there was a tremor in her voice that said she was holding her emotions in check, barely. 

* 

In the corner of the room Roland, his blonde hair in disarray, looked on with disgust while Lily watched the three of them, with a look of pain, fear and admiration on her face. Roland glanced sideways at her. She was sitting on his cot, holding a warm mug of tea between her hands that Griselda had made for her. Roland sat on a stool, the bowl of food in his hand, his legs bare. Luckily the tunic was long enough to cover him, though his legs were bare as were his feet making him feel awkward and look like he had just come from his bedroom undressed and in disarray—it was embarrassing... Roland studied Lily while she wasn't looking at him; she was...lovely...really. There was something sweet and innocent about her features though Roland was sure she had to be close to his age. 

She glanced at Roland, as if sensing his scrutiny. Her eyes seemed to look through him, those clear grey eyes. She frowned, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled something bad before she turned away again. Roland felt odd suddenly; he didn't like the way she had looked at him and dimissed him in the same look. It...hurt. 

He decided he should say something. “I'm sure they will save your mother.” 

Lily turned back to look at him with a slightly confused expression. She was quiet for a moment, studying him before she spoke, having decided he was sincere. “Thank you. I...I have heard many good things about Master King, how powerful he is, but also about his willingness to help...never asking anything in return.” 

Roland frowned looking confused. “He helps?! Truly? He seems like a right fils de salope.” 

Lily's eyes widened in surprise at Roland's use of language, her cheeks turning bright red and she looked annoyed with Roland. 

“He is a good man. Everyone who lives around here and as far out as Cumnock knows about the good he has done for people and he never takes payment,” Lily stated bluntly. 

“But why not?” Roland asked with genuine curiosity. 

It was Lily's turn to look confused. “Because he cares. Unlike other men with power, Master King cares about others—that is why he does what he does.” 

Roland frowned and turned away to watch Bog, Griselda and Marianne. He still couldn't understand doing something for anyone without receiving something in return. Why do it if you didn't receive something in return? Roland shook his head and went back to eating. He would never understand doing something for nothing. Stupid. 

* 

Bog stepped back, cupping his mother's face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “We'll be careful. I promise mother.” 

She nodded as Bog stepped back. Marianne wrapped her arms around Bog's mother “I'll keep him safe.” 

Griselda smiled. “Thank you dear.” 

Bog looked amused for a moment, but he shrugged. Maybe she would...maybe she would... 

* 

Bog led Marianne outside toward the stables. It had grown quite dark outside as night settled in, prompting Bog to conjure several orbs of magical light that floated and bobbed along with them casting a soft blue glow. There were a few horses out here, more than she had realized when she saw five of them. Bog tossed his pack down and walked over to two of the stables. Both horses were elegant creatures, with muscled bodies and graceful legs. One of the horses that Bog led out was a mixed brown and white with a thick brown mane and kind eyes. The horse threw its head, snorting a little as if it clearly knew something was wrong. Bog led the horse over to Marianne, guiding the animal with just his hands and softly spoken words Marianne couldn't hear. She watched in wonder as Bog stopped the horse right in front of her and patted it's neck. 

Bog reached out to her. “Here give me your hand.” 

Marianne did as he asked, putting her hand out to him. Bog took her hand, leading her closer. 

“This horse is called Bruna. She is very sweet, easy to ride and loyal.” 

Bog held her hand under Bruna's nose with a gentle smile at the horse. It was such a sweet, kind look that it melted Marianne's heart. Marianne forced her attention from Bog to the animal who had walked closer to her. The horse sniffed her, then she felt the velvet tickle of her horse's lips against her hand. Marianne giggled, her face all smiles, watching the horse search her hand for treats. 

Bog smiled, pointing to a barrel in the corner as he spoke. “She wants an apple; there are some in the barrel over there. “ 

Bog turned and started walking toward the other horse that had been stabled next to Bruna when he stopped and turned back toward Marianne. “Do you know how to saddle a horse?” 

Marianne, who had walked over to the barrel, reached in to grab an apple and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, I do. I love riding. Used to sneak out when I was younger and take off without permission.” she laughed softly as she stepped back over to Bruna. The horse made a snuffling noise of excitement when she saw Marianne held an apple. 

Bog gave her a slight smile and nod of approval before he pointed. “The saddles and everything are over there.” 

Marianne nodded, holding the apple up for Bruna while stroking the horse's neck with her other hand. She watched as Bog walked over to the other horse. This one was a little taller than Bruna with a coat that was a silver red, a shade that Marianne had never seen before. The magical orbs of light that danced around the stable made the horse glow as if moonlight had been captured in its coat. As Bog led the horse from its stall, she could see that its main was thick and almost reddish in color. The horse snorted and leaned its head against Bog's shoulder as he led the horse out of the stall with a smile. 

Marianne grinned. There was something about Bog's expression that made her think of a little boy with his prized pet. Bog murmured to the horse, bringing the animal closer. 

He smiled at Marianne. “This is Aoibhneas. I raised him from a colt when his mother died.” 

Marianne watched as Bog ran his hands along the horse's neck; the horse looked to be leaning into Bog's touch. Clearly the attachment between the two of them was strong. 

Marianne smiled. “He's beautiful Bog.” 

Bog grinned like a proud parent. “He is isn't he?” 

Bog ran his hands over the horse's neck and down his side where he patted him, then sighed. “We won't be able to travel too far at night, but we should be able to make it to the Angel Inn in Andover by midnight, or an hour past by the latest. We'll stop there for the night and head off again at daybreak. After that there won't be another inn until we reach our destination.” 

Marianne nodded. She had just finished brushing Bruna and was tossing the saddle pad on the horse's back. “Bog, do you think you will be able to stop whatever this is?” 

Bog had picked up a brush and was busily brushing Aoibhneas. “I...I hope so.” 

* 

Marianne was exhausted, and hungry by the time they arrived at the inn, a small building with a steepled roof, a heavy brick chimney that was puffing out smoke, with exposed wood beams, white walls and embellished windows. Clearly the innkeeper made enough money to afford a more “fancy” exterior. They approached the inn around the time that Bog had predicted, with Bog extinguishing the orbs of light before they approached the inn. Despite the hour, the lights of the inn were still burning brightly and the sounds of music drifted from inside to their ears. Marianne could hear the sounds of singing and laughter as they stopped at the side of the inn by the stables. A young man of no more than thirteen with a torch in hand yawned, still dressed in a pair of rough linen pants and a white cotton shirt—minus shoes—and a mop of dirty blonde hair that hung in his eyes, came out when Bog rang the bell that hung just outside the stable. 

“Hello sir.” The boy smiled showing rows of crooked teeth, and despite how tired he clearly was, the young man was cheerful. But when he saw the horses, his face lit up even more. 

“Oh sir, your horses are beautiful!” the youth said, setting the torch in a holder against the inn's outer wall before coming up to them both with his hands out. The horses seemed to take to the young man instantly, which made Bog smile. If the horses liked the boy it meant that he would be good to them. Bog trusted the horses' opinions about people more than anyone else besides his mother. 

Bog slid easily off his horse, took the reins and moved over to help Marianne. She hopped off easily though she did take his hand; her hand was small and warm in his larger one. Bog swallowed letting go of her as soon as her feet were on the ground before taking Bruna's reins. Bog smiled and handed the boy the reins while Marianne was removing her pack, Bog holding his pack in his left hand as he spoke to the boy. 

“Treat them well.” With a sleight of hand, Bog produced a gold coin between his long fingers which he also set in the boy's palm. 

The boy beamed in delight. “Thank you sir. I swear they will be the best treated horses this side of the king's stables!” 

With that the boy led the horses into the darkened stable talking merrily to the animals as he did so. A moment later the flare of an orange light appeared as the boy set about lighting a lantern to help guide him in the stable. As Marianne and Bog headed toward the front of the inn, Bog took Marianne's hand drawing her closer. 

“While we are here I suggest we stay close. I will acquire us one room, but you may have the bed.” Bog spoke without looking down at her. 

“Why one room?” Marianne asked, not that she minded. 

“For your protection,” Bog muttered. 

Marianne scoffed with a slight narrowing of her eyes. “I can protect myself you know.” 

Bog stopped and smiled at her, taking her by her shoulders and turning her to face him. “I know that Marianne, but there is no reason to invite trouble, not that I'm assuming anyone here would be trouble. I just want you to be safe and...” Here Bog shrugged. “One room would cost us much less than two.” 

Marianne chuckled. “Oh, you cheap wizard.” 

Bog laughed. “You caught me!” 

Marianne smiled. “It's fine Bog. I understand.” 

Bog nodded. “Thank you Marianne. As I said. I will sleep on the floor.” 

Marianne frowned, but said nothing else as Bog pushed the door to the inn's interior open. 

* 

The inside of the inn was still quite crowded despite the late hour. A group of minstrels took up an entire corner of the inn's common room playing a variety of instruments, from a small traveling harp, to kettledrums, fiddles, a flute player, bagpipes, flageolet, two lute players and two singers, a man and a woman. The crowd of patrons seemed to be an equal mix of travelers and townsfolk, laughing and dancing to the music. There was a long bar where an older man—who had probably once been quite heavily built in his youth but now age had diminished him—was talking to a couple of men sitting at the bar. An older woman was behind the bar with him, cooking at the stove, her pale blonde hair was up on the top of her head in a messy bun, with long strands coming loose to curl round her face. Though she looked tired, she still had a smile on her face. 

Bog knew the innkeeper must be quite happy tonight; traveling minstrels brought in paying customers, whether they be travelers or local people looking for entertainment. There were a couple of barmaids serving the patrons, both young and in their twenties, one with long brown hair braided down her back, the other with long dark auburn hair tired at the nape of her neck; both young women were freckled and both cheerful. As Bog approached the bar, the man noticed him and nodded to his companions as he made his way over to Bog and Marianne. 

“And how can I help ye both?” The man had a thick black mustache that was going white and a ready smile. 

Bog smiled in return. “Well my lady and I are hoping you have a room for the night.” 

The man smiled glancing at Marianne. “Aye I do, you are both in luck since it's the last I have. It will be five silver, another silver each for a meal for you both, that includes drinks.” 

Bog nodded. “Thank you sir, we'll take the room.” 

The man nodded. “Good, good. Just a moment. Matilda! Go and fetch the last key!” 

The auburn haired young woman, who had been flirting with a young man across the room looked up and nodded at the innkeeper, hurrying off the fetch the key. 

The man grinned. “My name is Duncan and this fine and beautiful woman behind me is my wife, Mary.” 

The woman cooking behind him smiled and curtsied to them. “May I have yer names sir and lady?” Duncan asked. 

Bog nodded. “I am Bogart and this is my lady May.” 

Marianne frowned slightly at the change of their names, but she trusted that Bog knew best and went along with it as she curtsied in return. 

Duncan grinned. “Well, find a seat, enjoy the music. We are lucky to have some fine musicians tonight and one of my girls will bring you out a meal. This evening we are having rye bread, cheese with deer meat stew and sugared biscuits, a special treat tonight, along with some ale.” 

Bog nodded his thanks, took Marianne's hand and led her to a couple of vacant seats at a small table. 

The music was pleasant and the singers were actually rather talented Marianne thought. Enough so that she would have recommended them to her father to play in court. The patrons had moved the tables around in such a way that there was a makeshift dance floor created in the center of the room where several couples were dancing. 

Matilda came dashing up to them with a rushed curtsy and handed Bog an elaborate iron key. “It's the last door on the left up the stairs sir, my lady. The bed is more than big enough for the two of you and there is a fireplace if the night becomes chilly, though it's seldom used. We keep the fire down here roaring through the night, transfers through the floorboards into the rooms nicely enough.” 

Bog smiled. “Thank you very much Matilda.” 

The young woman grinned. “While yer waiting on yer food, you two should dance. A nice couple such as yerselves would probably do better than some of the oafs we have out there now.” 

“Hey, who you calling an oaf Matilda!” A young man with brown hair the color of syrup came dancing around the center of the room and grabbed Matilda by the waist. “Excuse me lady, sir, but my girl here needs to be taught a lesson in dancing.” 

The two young people danced off to much laughter. The innkeeper Duncan was laughing as he yelled. “Hey now Tom!! Don't be dancing off with my help!” 

Marianne turned and grinned at Bog. “Shall we?” She lifted a brow in question, looking damnably cute, Bog thought. 

Bog looked a little surprised and a little...frightened, she thought. He couldn't be frightened of a dance Marianne thought to herself reaching out for his hand. 

When she took his hand Bog felt his insides flip and a swarm of butterflies spring to life...a feeling he hated, but at the same time made him feel alive. Marianne was lovely, all smiles and sparkling eyes; he just couldn't seem to say no as he allowed her to lead him out onto the floor. Despite the fact that they were going to face something he dreaded, the happy music, laughing crowd and Marianne's infectious smile had him smiling in return. Moments like these told him that there was still good in the world. 

* 

Once they were in the middle of the dance floor, Bog realized he was actually frightened. It wasn't that he didn't know how to dance; he did. He had had all the best teachers money could buy when he was younger, when his father still lived, and even with his height, he had proven to be a graceful dancer...but with her? 

And now it was too late. Marianne had grasped his hand and was dragging him out to the center of the makeshift dance floor, she held both his hands in hers, smiling at him before she stretched out his left hand with hers, their chests pressed together, those autumn brown eyes staring up at him and Bog knew he was lost. 

The minstrels had changed the music from the swift happy dancing jigs; the tune they chose to play now was slower, far more courtly than what they had been playing previously. The minstrel group's female singer chose to sing “Douce Dame Joli” a popular song from a neighboring country, both sad and romantic. 

Bog led Marianne, at first two hopping steps to the right, then two to the left. Bog smiled looking down on Marianne as he slowly spun her around, their hands never leaving the grasp of the other, then back again. They each took a step to the side. Bog spun her slowly around again, until his hands, still holding hers, were behind her, being held by Marianne against the small of her back, their torsos swaying slightly while they moved in harmony. This close, Bog could smell the sweet scent of her skin and hair, feel the warmth of her body. He swallowed hard. 

Marianne was keenly aware of Bog's presence this close; she could feel the attraction that was building in her breast for this man. She was confused by her attraction, by the way her eyes strayed to his lips, tracing their shape with her eyes to hold the image and dream about the way those lips must feel, to fall into the depths of endless blue that were his eyes...Marianne stumbled and quickly brought her attention back to the dance. 

Marianne recognized some of the steps of the dance, the Laendler dance, but Bog was adding steps she was unfamiliar with...she simply followed along with him as if enchanted. 

As they continued to dance, Bog surprised her when his lightly accented voice joined with the minstrels' vocalist and he started to sing, translating the words for her into words she understood, but pitched low so that only she could hear him. 

* 

“Sweet, lovely lady 

for god's sake do not think 

that any has sovereignty 

over my heart, but you alone. 

For always, without treachery 

Cherished 

Have I you, and humbly 

All the days of my life 

Served 

Without base thoughts. 

Alas, I am left begging 

For hope and relief; 

For my joy is at its end 

Without your compassion. 

Sweet, lovely lady.... 

But your sweet mastery 

Masters 

My heart so harshly, 

Tormenting it 

And binding 

In unbearable love, 

[My heart] desires nothing 

but to be in your power. 

And still, your own heart 

renders it no relief. 

Sweet, lovely lady.... 

And since my malady 

Will not 

Be annulled 

Without you, Sweet Enemy, 

Who takes 

Delight of my torment 

With clasped hands I beseech 

Your heart, that forgets me, 

That it mercifully kill me 

For too long have I languished.” 

* 

Marianne couldn't take her eyes from Bog's. If she didn't know better she would have sworn he was weaving a spell, but she felt no magic ripple across her skin. Bog smiled shyly. The music continued to play for a few more minutes and the two of them continued to dance, their hands interlocked, one set above their heads, the other around her waist. They moved in a slow circle, staring into each others eyes until the music came to a stop. They turned two, three more times, neither aware that the music had stopped, lost in each others eyes. When Bog finally turned her one more time, stopping when she was pressed up against him, their hands locked over their heads and against the back of her waist, Marianne whispered. “What are you doing?” 

Bog blushed and replied in a soft voice. “Dancing.” 

That was when the entire common room broke into applause with a few patrons yelling. “Kiss her!! Kiss her!!” 

Bog and Marianne seemed to become aware of their audience. Marianne blushed a bright red as did Bog who hollered back with a laugh. “Yer a bunch of canker-blossoms!” which earned him another round of cheering and laughs. 

Bog led Marianne back to their table where Matilda had just arrived with their meals. She was blushing and smiling prettily as she whispered to them. “That was the most romantic thing I have ever seen, just out of a storybook it was...” 

Bog was blushing and didn't reply, but Marianne smiled at Matilda. “It was, wasn't it?” 

* 

Bog and Marianne ate in companionable silence while the minstrels returned to playing, this time a reel; “Stella Splendens.” The music was beginning to settle after the reel to more lighter music of “J'aim sans penser” as everyone was clearly becoming tired. 

* 

After they finished their dinner, the common room was dying down as the local folk headed home and the patrons of the inn to their beds or places on the floor in front of the fire. Bog accompanied Marianne to their room, carrying both their packs with him. Marianne followed behind him, carrying a candle provided by the innkeeper, watching Bog's back. He was tall enough that he had to duck in places to make his way up the stairs. The door to the room was a heavy wood door, plain, but the craftsmanship was clear in its clean lines and the way the door fit perfectly into the frame. 

Bog stepped aside, letting Marianne use the key to open the door. She did so, then stepped aside to let Bog carry their bags inside. The room itself was warm and cozy, with a fairly large bed, big enough for two people, with clean linens and pillows with a thick woolen blanket in a dark grey over the foot of the bed. There was a large copper chamberpot in the far corner, a fireplace, a small, plain wooden table with one old rickety looking chair and an old, battered dressing screen in the corner. But as Bog stared at the room, he started to realize exactly how many codes of conduct he was breaking. Not only did he have a princess with him without a proper escort or guards, but he was leading her to a possibly cursed or enslaved village, into danger that he wasn't clear about or how dangerous it may be. And he had also taken her to a common inn with peasant food and drink, with common traveling minstrels, danced with her—too closely—he could still smell her scent, feel the heat of her body. And he sang to her!! Like a fool, he had let the music interfere with his better judgment and he sang to her! 

And now, to top off the list of improper things he had done where Princess Marianne was concerned, he was going to be sleeping in a room alone with her. If her father, the king knew, he would have Bog killed and his head displayed. His mother wouldn't care...she would use this as some sort of match-making opportunity... 

Bog shook his head. At least, he thought he would not be sharing the bed with her, that would cross one line too many. Which was the moment that Marianne yawned and said softly as she set the iron candlestick holder down on the table. “Which side do you prefer?” 

Bog dropped the packs in astonishment at her question, his mouth hanging open as he hissed breathlessly. “What?” 

Marianne turned, picking up her pack and walking over to the bed. She opened her pack and rummaged around until she pulled out a cotton nightgown. “I asked which side you preferred.” 

Bog sputtered. “On the bed?!” 

Marianne turned to give him a calm look. “Yes.” 

Bog continued to sputter. “I...I...ah, I'm sleeping on the floor...so, the floor side.” 

Bog hurried over grabbing the wool blanket off the bed as if to emphasize that he would be sleeping on the floor. Marianne, held her gown in her fist as she dropped her fists to her hips and stared hard at him. “No, you are sleeping on the bed. We have a long way to go and as you said yourself, we have no idea what we're fighting. You need to be well rested Bog.” 

Bog opened his mouth to argue, but Marianne turned on him pointing her finger. “Don't you dare argue with me Bog.” 

Bog stared at her. He clearly wanted to argue with her, his face contorting with the effort of not losing his temper, but instead he timidly replied.” I prefer the right side.” 

Marianne smiled. “Oh good, I prefer the left.” 

With that she tossed her gown over her shoulder and walked briskly over to the dressing screen.


	9. Close Quarters

Marianne came out from behind the shade, now wearing her nightgown, walked to the bed, and pulled the clovers back. She glanced over her shoulder once at Bog who still had not moved from his spot by the bedroom door. “Aren't you going to change?” she asked softly. 

Bog just stood there dumbfounded. “Change?” 

Marianne gestured with one hand up and down taking in his outfit, gesturing at all of him. “You aren't going to sleep like are you?” 

“I...I uh...” Bog, the great and powerful wizard found himself without words. 

Marianne pressed her lips together for a moment before she sighed and walked over taking his pack from him and crouched at his feet rummaging through it. 

Bog thought to himself that he should say something, telling her not to search through the bag, that he would sleep on the floor no matter what she said...something, but this petite beautful woman had him dumbfounded. 

“Ah, here we go!” Marianne stood, pleased with herself as he held up a nightshirt for him. “There—you go change and I'll prepare the bed. Bog nodded and took the shirt moviing behind the dressing screen. 

* 

Marianne seemed calm and self assured on the outside, but she was nervous to have him in bed beside her, nervous because of the intensity of her feeling. She was attracted to that damn wizard...damn him that..that...Marianne struggled for a moment trying to think of a proper curse for him, but her mind let the cursing drop. She settled for calling him 'that damn wizard.' But she had been deadly serious, Bog needed to be at his best and as close as a good night's sleep they could have would come from that bed they would share. She smiled shyly... 

* 

Bog stepped out from behind the screen and Marianne struggled not to make a sound. To see the tall imposing wizard standing there, barefoot (goodness his feet were long and narrow Marianne thought) and bare legged (nice legs she thought, strong...she could see the flow of his calf muscles running up under the cotton night shirt...), the shirt hanging on him. He didn't look like an imposing wizard who could burn this place to the ground or conjure up elemental spirits with a simple gesture. Instead Bog looked like a shy, tall, awkward man. 

Marianne smiled at him. “Good, that's much better.” 

She walked around to her side of the bed crawling in and turning her back to him. Bog watched her, blushing furiously. He finally walked over and sat on his side of the bed. Marianne's heart was pounding in her chest. She heard him walk over and sit, feeling the shift of his weight on the mattress. He stayed that way for a few minutes before he finally lifted the comforter and slid his long frame under the covers. 

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling uncertain what to do; the lantern was still lit, sitting on the table closer to Bog. He was thinking about leaning over and turning it down when Marianne rolled over to face him. 

She laid with her head on the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek the other resting under her chin. 

“Bog, will you tell me something?” she asked softly. 

Bog turned his head to face her stiffly. “Yes, what is it?” 

“Are you scared?” Marianne asked softly. 

“Scared, of the village we are going to? What might be there?” Bog asked and Marianne nodded. 

“Yes, scared of what's waiting for us, scared for yourself...It is just...you seemed so confident and sure of yourself even when you asked me to leave you behind if something goes wrong. You still seem so...confident.” Her tone was uncertain and held a fearful tone to match her expression. She studied Bog's expression as he thought of his answer, his blue eyes having drifted up and to the left, unfocused for a few heartbeats. 

Bog wanted to give her reassurances, to tell her that she was overreacting and that everything would be fine, but he knew she was the type of person who appreciated the truth. Marianne was not a princess to be reassured with false statements and false hope. Bog had already promised himself to never lie to her. 

“I'm scared Marianne, yes.” Bog smiled softly when he answered her. 

Marianne was quiet, glancing down in thought before she spoke again. “I”m glad you're bringing me with you. It's better to face a fear with someone than alone.” She gave him a soft smile. 

Bog stared at her for several long seconds before he answered. “Thank you Marianne. It's nice to have someone I trust by my side instead of doing this alone.” 

They were quiet again for several long seconds before Marianne whispered, “I was so scared when my magic came in. No one was there to help me...Roland was screaming. Everyone was screaming; I felt like a monster. Everyone looked at me that way. Even my father was scared. Everyone was—except for my sister, Dawn. Dawn didn't look at me any differently.” 

Bog reached out and took her hand that lay just under her chin. He wrapped his fingers tenderly around her hand, weaving his fingers with hers. “It's good you had your sister.” He gently squeezed her hand which elicited another smile from Marianne who squeezed his hand in return. 

“Yes. She wasn't scared, she was...fascinated actually. She asked so many questions, I was the one who wanted to scream, especially since I didn't have any answers.” Marianne chuckled lightly. “I miss her. I just hope...I...I don't know what I want anymore.” 

Bog squeezed her hand tenderly again. “I understand. It was much the same for me, though I was only a child when it happened. Didn't hurt anyone the first time, but it didn't stop the household from treating me differently. Everyone was scared of me, except for my parents. If not for them...I don't know what might have happened to me.” 

“What did you do the first time?” Marianne asked with a smile. 

He smirked at the memory. “I was able to hide the very first time it happened. I was seven and I made dancing orbs of light appear in my room when I was scared of a storm raging outside.” Bog smiled. “I thought at first they were fairies that had come to protect me. When I told my Mam and Da about them, they laughed it off as a child's fantasy.” Bog frowned in thought. “The second time I summoned my magic was a few months later; I was outside and had picked a rose from the garden for my mother. I was worried about keeping it fresh, then suddenly I froze the flower.” Bog chuckled. “I was scared and destroyed the flowers. But the time I was caught finally was when I was perhaps ten. I was lucky I didn't set anything on fire; I had simply caused a platter of cookies to come floating into my room from the kitchen. No one noticed, thank the spirits, how the platter arrived, but goodness did I get in trouble when my Mam found a whole platter of missing cookies in my room.” 

“How did you get the platter to your room?” Marianne asked. 

Bog shrugged. “There is a spell called a mage hand, a minor telekinesis spell where you can lift small things. I just did the magic without realizing I could do it. You see, just like all the other spells I had preformed earlier. I wanted a cookie. Cook and Mam had told me no. I wanted a cookie so much that my magic kicked in and brought the cookies to me.” 

Marianne laughed softly. “Those must have been good cookies.” 

Bog grinned, his eyes dancing. “Oh they were, Savoiardi. Our cook made the best.” 

Marianne chuckled. “Oh well that does make sense! Savoiardi are wonderful! I could just see ten year old you with a whole platter of cookies...did your mother catch you eating them?” 

Bog blushed and nodded. “Aye, I had eaten about ten of them when I was caught.” 

Together they laughed. “I bet you were cute.” Marianne grinned, but Bog's laugh changed. “No, I was an ugly little boy too, all arms, legs and nose. Every part too long and too thin or sharp, just like now.” 

Marianne smiled. “You're not ugly Bog.” Marianne spoke softly and gave a reassuring squeeze to his hand. 

Bog frowned and blushed, his eyes not meeting hers. Marianne leaned over and pressed her lips against Bog's cheek. Bog looked at her strangely. “What—what was that for?” Bog asked. 

Marianne smiled. “Just...because...” 

Bog swallowed, averting his gaze as his cheeks and the tips of his ears burned. 

Marianne asked. “Did your mother ask you about how the cookies came to be in your room?” 

Bog nodded just a smidge. “She did. I blurted out that my invisible friend had brought them, something must have fallen into place for my mother because she didn't accuse me of lying. Instead she sent for my father. Wasn't long after that I began my training...mostly in secret then.” 

“In secret?” Marianne asked with a small squeeze of his hand. 

Bog frowned. “That's a story for another time.” He gazed at her for a long moment. She was pretty, just staring at him with those large brown eyes. Bog felt his cheeks start to burn again at the remembered pressure of her lips. 

“Ah...well. We should get some sleep,” Bog murmured. 

Marianne smiled. “Of course, Bog—sweet dreams.” 

Bog swallowed still blushing and smiled. “Sweet dreams to you too.” 

He reluctantly let go of her hand as he rolled over and blew out the flame in the lantern. 

Marianne laid there watching him in the darkness while Bog shifted stiffly pulling the covers up a little more. She smiled watching him. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the smell of him, spicy with something underneath, incense maybe, she wasn't sure what it was precisely, but she knew she liked the scent...and whatever it was, it would always remind her of Bog. 

Marianne was keenly aware of his body in the bed next to her, not just the scent of him, but his sheer physical presence. She had the overpowering urge to curl up against his body, to feel him, safe and warm against her. She had to force herself to stay still. Instead Marianne contented herself in just watching him. She was still watching him as her eyes slowly grew heavy. She reached out just before she fell asleep and laid her fingers against the side of his arm as her eyes fell closed. 

* 

Bog lay on his back for a long time staring at the dark ceiling, his hands folded across his chest, fingers intertwined. He could feel the tiny touch of Marianne's fingers against his arm, the warmth from them seemed to create a spot of heat that traveled along his arm to settle in his chest. His heart ached from her touch, her words, her very presence. What was happening to him? Bog asked himself. He was starting to let her in (that's what was wrong), but the odd thing was, he thought to himself...he wanted to let her in, wanted her to destroy his calm. Bog closed his eyes. Damn it if he wasn't starting to ache for her. 

He breathed slowly, letting his mind wander a little, trying not to focus on Marianne laying so close beside him or the way she made him feel. After a few minutes, he heard the change in Marianne's breathing telling him that she had fallen into a deep asleep. She shifted a little and before Bog realized what she was doing, her arm was around his waist. She scooted closer, tightening her hold. Bog went still as his eyes flew open. He felt her shift closer yet. Then he felt the press of her forehead against his shoulder. 

Marianne murmured in her sleep. “Bog...” 

Bog twisted just slightly, turning to look down at her, despite the darkness of the room, trying his best not to wake her. She looked beautiful, her face relaxed in sleep, her dark lashes resting against her cheeks. Her tiny bow of a mouth had a slight smile. She looked even younger when she was asleep. Bog sighed with a longing he had never felt before, just taking in her features. She smelled pleasant laying this close to him, warm, like the summer sun at the end of the day, laying in a field of green grass watching the clouds float silently across blue sky. He thought about moving her, but knew he would most likely wake her. So instead Bog took a deep breath and relaxed, closing his eyes with a slight smile on his face. 

* 

During the night as the two of them slept, the rolled into each others arms. Bog wrapped Marianne in his embrace, pulling her against his chest. Marianne wrapped her arms around his middle her face pressed into his chest taking in his warmth and scent. 

Marianne dreamed of Bog's long, agile fingers brushing along her jaw, tilting her face up to his where he pierced her with deep blue eyes filled with magic. She leaned toward him as if he were a will-o-wisp come to lead her into Fairie, to steal her away as his bride. She found herself, in the dream, willing to follow him anywhere he chose to take her. Dream Bog smiled, that rare smile of his that sent shivers up and down her spine. He leaned in closer, his warm lips nearly touching hers. (Marianne was completely unaware of the spell she was weaving in her sleep. Another powerful bit of magic she should not be able to do, but yet she was doing so as they slept.) 

Bog stood in front of Marianne, his fingertips catching her chin and tilting her face to his as he leaned down to kiss her. The desire to kiss her was strong, almost too strong for him to fight it, but something was wrong. It only took him a few precious moments to realize he was dreaming, or was in a dream; he couldn't be certain, but it seemed that this wasn't his dream...though oddly it was very close to the dream he had been having. In his dream Marianne was in his arms, her head resting against his chest and he was holding her. He blushed at the realization—naked...they had both been naked. But the dream had suddenly changed to this...Bog started to pull away from her, but Marianne wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered. “Won't you kiss me Bog?” 

Bog jerked, looking down at her. “Marianne, this is a dream.” 

“I know silly. Which is why it's okay if you kiss me?” She smiled at him, looking young and adorably beautiful. 

Bog frowned trying to break free, but he couldn't seem to shake himself loose of Marianne's magic. He wasn't prepared for this; dream magic usually required perpetration and meditation, yet she had hauled him effortlessly into her dream and now he was unable to break the spell and free himself. She was far stronger than he anticipated, maybe even stronger than him, a thought he had had once before, but this...this proved Marianne's gifts in magic were great. 

So now, here he was, trapped. Marianne was holding him in the dream and as powerful as her unintentional spell was, Bog feared that a forceful breaking of it might do more harm than good. Which was why Bog decided to like the dream play out. Perhaps he would be able to wake her up, or the dream would naturally dissolve without issue. Bog tried again, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders. “No. I mean, Marianne, this is a dream you are creating, that you are doing this...the dream, I mean.” He took a breath and explained, “We are sharing a dream. It's a spell...I'm not sure how you did it, but...” 

Marianne laughed. “Oh, you silly!” And before Bog could protest further she had pulled him down to her and pressed her mouth against his...Bog wanted to protest, he really did, but her lips were soft, warm and her body pressed against him was delightful. The dream took hold of him, demanding that he play his part in it, but at the same time Bog simply didn't have the will to fight it as he melted into the kiss, knowing full well he was weak and stupid, but this was a dream...wasn't it? It wasn't even his dream! He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off her feet, deepening the kiss. Marianne made a little sound of need. He opened his mouth against hers and Marianne willingly, eagerly, plunged her tongue into his mouth, wrapping her tongue ardently with Bog's. Bog pulled her closer, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head, his other hand was spread across her lower back. 

They explored the warm, inviting wetness of each others mouths. Bog groaned; she tasted like magic burning his tongue and lips with her heat as she pulled herself closer. Marianne's teeth caught his tongue at one point, gently tugging. Bog moaned at the combined mixture of pleasure and pain, especially when Marianne switched to tug at his bottom lip with her teeth before plunging her tongue into his mouth once more. Bog started to try to separate himself from Marianne, he needed to stop this, but his protests were muffled by her mouth eagerly moving across his with abandon. 

Bog thought for a moment how bad this was going to be when he had to tell her that this was all actually a dream that she had pulled him into. She was going to hate him. 

* 

When morning came, Roland woke to the sounds of women giggling. He made a face refusing to open his eyes and turned around putting his back to the kitchen. He could hear them talking, Griselda and that Lily. They were supposedly whispering, but they were still loud. He grabbed his pillow smashing it over his head which was greeted by more giggles. As he laid there trying to ignore them he was assaulted by the delicious smells of cooking food. Roland sniffed the air; he could smell the warm seductive scent of fresh baked bread, smoked salmon, the sharp scent of cheese freshly sliced and the sound of poured drinks, most assuredly wine. Roland finally rolled over trying his best to glower at the two women. 

Griselda and Lily sat at the table in the corner with a morning meal spread out around them. There was smoke salmon, chedder cheese and soft brie; a loaf of bread fresh enough that steam was still rising from the hot slices, along with fresh made butter, peach jam and a bottle of wine. Griselda was dressed as she always was in some sort of formless gown of brown with an apron tied over the front, while Lily—Lily though...where she had received the dress, Roland had no idea, but it was of light blue with long tapered sleeves and she wore a girdle around her slim hips. Her hair had been plaited down her back, highlighting her delicate, freckled features. Roland stared for a moment. 

Griselda, noticing the young man's staring, smiled. “I gave Lily an old dress of mine. I updated it a little this morning for her though. Poor girl needed another outfit.” 

Roland frowned then muttered. “Fine. What...I mean...” He looked uncomfortable for a moment before he whispered, “May I join you?” 

Griselda smiled. “Of course. Let me go and fetch your leggings.” 

The older woman left the kitchen, leaving Lily and Roland alone. Roland frowned suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He played with the end of his blanket while Lily took a knife and spread butter on the bread. She glanced over at him once and murmured, “Griselda says you hit yer head, that's why yer staying with them.” 

Roland looked over at her startled then nodded. “Yes, I...ah...had an accident.” 

She nodded picking up a spoon and spooning out some of the jam from the ceramic container. “She told me you are a friend of Master King's lady.” 

“What?” Roland sat up straight. 

Lily turned to look at him. Her clear grey eyes and sweet open face struck him dumb for a moment as she said more clearly. “She said you were a friend of Master King's lady, Marianne.” 

“A friend! I will have you...know...” Roland's words puttered to a stop as she stared at him. 

Roland swallowed then nodded. “Yes, ah friends. I just came to visit and had an accident.” 

Roland frowned. He had hidden the potion one of the times that Griselda was out of the kitchen, but now the knowledge of it, hidden away, burned in his mind as Lily smiled at him...that this Lily person would look at him with scorn if she knew his plans. For some reason that bothered him. Roland pushed the thoughts out of his mind just as Griselda returned. “These are an old pair of Bog's from when he was a child.” She smiled fondly holding the pair of dark, faded green leggings with a multitude of patches sewn into them. “But they should fit you just fine Roland.” 

Roland gasped. Not only was she giving him second-hand clothing, they were Bog's AND they were from when that ugly man was a child! It was humiliating! Roland's face scrunched up ready to rail against Griselda and the leggings when Lily spoke up. “That is so generous of you, Miss Griselda.” 

“Dear, now how many times have I told you to just call me Griselda?” The older woman smiled kindly and Lily blushed. 

“A great many,” the young woman admitted with a tiny smile. 

Griselda nodded. “Yes. And thank you dear. Here you go Roland. There is an old tunic of Bog's waiting for you in the washing room where I just put fresh water in the tub. Bog left me some magic so the water should be nice and warm. Once yer clean you can join us for the morning meal.” 

Roland stood up, only a little wobbly and took the leggings with a muttered, “Thank you.” 

Griselda smiled and motioned him toward the washing room that was just off the kitchen. 

After Roland had left, Lily frowned and said quietly, “I don't like him.” 

Griselda laughed. “Oh he isn't all that bad. The boy just needs a little...smoothing around the edges and to be told that he isn't God's gift. A little humility will make a different person of him. I believe that.” 

Lily frowned as she took a bite of her bread. “Why do you think that?” 

Griselda smiled. “I don't believe on giving up on people. I think Roland just had a few bad influences in his life. Perhaps while Bog and Marianne are gone, we can teach Roland some humility, help him find himself?” 

Lily frowned glancing in the direction that Roland had gone. She didn't look happy. “All right Griselda, if you say so, I'll help.” 

“Splendid my dear.” Griselda rubbed her hands together. 

* 

Marianne woke with a smile. She had had a wonderful dream. She was embarrassed by the fact that she had found it wonderful...Bog kissing her, but it was nice. She wondered if he was as passionate a kisser in real life as he had been in her dream? She was acutely aware of his scent in the dream and even now it was stronger. She grinned hugging him close, her hand felt the warmth of his chest, the smattering of hair across his chest. She flexed her fingers smiling, feeling the warm skin, the texture of the hair on his chest curling under her fingers. That was the moment she realized something was amiss. 

She was lying on her side. When her eyes opened in narrow slits, she realized where she was; her arm tucked up and around Bog's chest, her hand under his night shirt, her torso snuggled up against his back, her pelvis right up tight against his backside. Her cheek was pressed against him between his shoulders and her left thigh wrapped around his hip. Her right leg was pressed firmly against his backside, the top of her thigh snuggled against the back of his leg, but the worst part (and the best part, she had to admit) was that her calf that was between his thighs was also right up against Bog's semi-hard...manhood. Marianne swallowed. 

Marianne's eyes opened wider as she realized the position she was in. She had wrapped herself so tightly around Bog that there was no way she would be able to separate without waking him, which of course was the same moment that Bog woke up. 

* 

Lily made a sour face as she walked Roland slowly around the kitchen. Griselda had charged her with helping him with the task of regaining his balance. After the concussion he had suffered, Griselda had told Lily that he was still experiencing some dizziness. He would likely recover, but it would take them caring for him and part of that was that he needed to slowly regain his balance. Lily had an arm around his waist, his arm around her shoulders and they were simply walking. It was clear that he was truly hurt, the dizziness making his steps wobbly, but Lily just didn't care for him. She could tell he had a pretentious attitude about him, and while Griselda hadn't said so, Lily was sure that Roland must be some sort of noble because he had the distaste for common people she had seen many nobles carry. 

They were on their third turn around the kitchen when Roland groaned. “Enough!” 

Lily pressed her lips together into a scowl. “Griselda said you had to go about the kitchen at least five times—we've only done three!” 

Roland snapped. “How would you know?! Peasants can't count!” 

“I may be a peasant, but I can count you dolt!” Lily snapped back. 

“Who are you calling a dolt!” Roland hissed. 

Lily stepped away from him watching with a grin as Roland wobbled and fell against the table. “You! You dolt!” 

Roland snarled. “Take me back to my cot!” 

“NO!” Lily stomped over to the small table and sat down, crossing her arms over her chest. Roland glared at her. She looked so darn cute when she was angry he thought. “You! You..!” 

“Roland dear, do not finish that statement or something unpleasant is going to happen to you,” Griselda said as she stepped into the kitchen from the kitchen's outside door holding her apron which was full of autumn olive berries. 

Roland made a face as Lily grabbed a large ceramic bowl and hurried over so that Griselda's could drop the berries into it. 

“What are you going to do to me old woman! The wizard is gone!” Roland huffed. 

Griselda wiped off her hands on her apron and turned, her hands on her hips. “Boy, Bog doesn't leave me defenseless. He has left me with plenty of spells to put a bobolyne like you in your place. So you had better start learning to behave yourself or you will be taking those lessons as a frog, or a fly or worse.” Griselda smiled at him coldly, her eyes dangerous. 

Lily covered her mouth trying not to giggle. 

Roland finally arrived at his cot and plopped down with a muttered. “Fine.” 

* 

Bog didn't realize that Marianne was awake. He was too occupied with his predicament. Marianne was wrapped around his back, her leg around his hips and between his legs where his...Bog closed his eyes against the flame of embarrassment that raced across his cheeks and up to the tip of his ears. Her hand was resting against his chest, had worked its way past the opening at the top of the night shirt so that her hand was against his bare skin. Where her hand laid seemed to be burning his skin, and he could also feel her cheek against his back, but she had her pelvis pressed right up against his backside. He didn't know what to do. What if he moved and woke her? How would she react? Would she be angry with him? 

The worst part was that having her this close also felt wonderful, which made his rebellious body react by causing him to become harder. Bog closed his eyes, cursing to himself. She was soft and warm and her body pressed so close up against his felt good; she smelled heavenly, and combined with the dream kiss... 

“Bog, are you awake?” Marianne spoke softly from behind him. 

Bog's blue eyes widened almost to the size of saucers which he heard her voice. He debated on whether he should spare her the embarrassment and pretend to be asleep, that way when she disentangled herself he could pretend to stay asleep the whole time, but the way a certain part of his anatomy was behaving was making it difficult for him to act asleep because she moved her leg, just slightly and he jerked, a small breathless moan escaping his lips. 

Marianne went very still. “Uhmm...I am going to let go.” 

Bog nodded. “Aye, yes...” 

Bog stayed still as Marianne slowly untangled herself. The movement of her leg from between his legs nearly killed him. Bog closed his eyes tight, biting down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from making any more embarrassing sounds. Finally he felt her pull away, the absence of her warmth was something he felt keenly, almost to his very core. Bog pressed his lips together, squeezing his eyes closed. He had more control than this... 

Marianne sat up. It took Bog a few minutes before he rolled over onto his back. 

“I'm sorry Bog.” Marianne smiled with a blush highlighting her cheeks. 

“It's all right. I...I should say I'm sorry as well,” Bog muttered miserably, which had Marianne frowning in confusion. 

“Whatever for?” Marianne asked staring at him. He wasn't looking at her, he was instead staring up at the ceiling as if praying to something. 

“Your dream...” Bog muttered. 

Marianne's brown eyes bugged for a moment. “My dream...what are you talking about?” Her cheeks burned with fresh embarrassment. Had she spoken in her sleep? Bog chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds and then muttered. “I was there. You—I'm not sure how, but you wove a dream spell and pulled me in. I—well I was aware of it, but I couldn't seem to break free of your spell so I decided to let it play out and you kissed me and I know it was wrong and I don't have any idea what I was thinking, but I went along with it and kissed you back. I'm so sorry Marianne; it was stupid and foolish of me.” 

Bog spoke swiftly without taking a breath between his words. When he finished, his eyes rolled to Marianne's and for a moment she was struck dumb, not just because of what he was saying...no...but because the great and powerful Master King looked shy, upset and embarrassed to the point he looked as if he wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. 

Marianne stared at him and before she could think better of it or stop herself...she laughed.


	10. Dreams and Shadows

Bog didn't think he could have felt worse, but her laugh clearly indicated that he could feel even stupider, and more ashamed. Of course, even in a dream, a woman like Marianne would never kiss a toad like him. He wasn't even sure what he had been thinking...hoping for. Of course he simply hadn't been thinking...he was clearly good at that, but her laughter felt like a stab in his heart. He tried to tell himself he didn't care. Bog King never cared. He was alone and he liked it that way and some idiot princess was not going to break through the walls of protection he had built around his heart, he refused to let her. It was a stupid dream spell that she had somehow created in her ignorance. It was his job as her teacher to make sure it never happened again. 

Bog trembled with shame and rage as he rolled out of the bed without a word. Marianne caught her bottom lip between her teeth realizing she had hurt him. She watched his tall, lean figure march across the room, going to his bags and grabbing his leggings up, the anger and hurt practically a visible entity around him. 

“I wasn't laughing at you Bog.” Marianne sat up, her hands down between her bent legs. “It's just that...you...Bog King, the most powerful wizard...it was...you....” Marianne motioned with her hands, struggling to find the words. 

Bog stumbled a bit as he gruffly grabbed up his clothing and started to shove his long legs into his leggings, struggling with putting his foot through one side, while at the same time trying to keep himself from lifting up his nightshirt and exposing himself. Trying to do this without making a scene while he was upset was proving to be an impossible task. Bog stumbled around the room, growling in frustration when his efforts to hurry were creating the exact opposite effect. 

Bog growled at her. “It's what? The idea of kissing a stupid ugly old man like me?? And that is not even the sarding point! The point was that you shouldn't have been able to do that! Dream magic should be beyond you!” Bog stumbled across the room, cursing vividly, his long legs tangled in his leggings as his shoulder hit the wall. “Sard it!!” 

Marianne stood up. “I was laughing at...well, look at it from my side Bog! You acting like...well...human...” 

Bog had finally gotten his leggings on, yanked them up and stood with his back to her. For the briefest of moments Marianne caught a hint of flesh...his rear, disappearing in the next when he yanked the leggings up. Bog turned to glare at her. “HUMAN? What the bloody hell are you talking about? I never thought I would live to hear another wizard...just....accuse me of not being human.” Bog seemed to deflate, his anger washing away. He took a calming breath, but at the same time, Marianne could almost feel it...as if he were gathering himself close and closing himself off. Clearly she had touched a nerve, but she wasn't sure what exactly she had said...the human part? Why would that... 

Bog looked at her and she could see pain in his blue eyes. “You can think of me however you like, just promise me you will obey my directions.” 

Marianne realized she must have touched on something from Bog's past. His face looked stoney as he murmured almost too low for her to hear. “Maybe I'm not human. It's not like I haven't heard that said about me before Marianne. And if that is truly how you feel, then...” 

Marianne hopped out of the bed, rushed over to Bog and stood up on her toes. She grabbed his cheeks with both hands forcing the tall man to not only face her, but made him bend down toward her. She glared at him, her brown eyes burning pools of plain old-fashioned annoyance just before she roughly pressed her mouth against his lips. Bog went still, his blue eyes widening into perfect round discs staring at her. Marianne had screwed her eyes closed, her fingers pressing into his face, her mouth pressed so hard against his that her teeth dug into her lips. When Bog didn't move, she opened her eyes slowly to see the rough, prickly wizard staring at her, his cheeks bright red. Marianne let him go stepping back, her cheeks flaming, but she muttered. “Who's the one who won't kiss...” 

She didn't finish because Bog stepped forward, his large hands gently grasped her face, pulling her toward him, his mouth covering hers. Marianne made a small sound of surprise, but when one of his arms went around her shoulders pulling her body toward him, his other hand slid into her hair to cup the back of her head. Marianne wrapped her arms around his middle yanking him closer and returning his kiss with enthusiasm, her tongue darting out to brush along his seeking tongue. She moved her head only to attack his mouth from a different angle, the sudden warm taste of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue dancing along her own. Never in her whole life had she been kissed like this, luxuriating in the heat that raced down her spine and to her extermities. Her fingers dug into his tunic holding onto him with desperation when they heard a knock at their door. 

“Sir, ah...wizard sir...we...we need your help.” The voice was that of the innkeeper, Duncan, and he sounded frightened. 

Bog jumped back from Marianne, his face turning red. He stood there, staring down at the floor for a moment reminding Marianne of a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn't be. Marianne's heart ached for him. There were so many layers to the man...so much hurt that she wanted to peel away...if he would let her. He glanced at Marianne then, looking shy, frightened, a dark pain hidden behind the blue of his eyes, but then the knock came again and she watched as the man who kissed her melt away to be replaced by the mage. 

“Yes, I'm here.” Bog walked over to the door opening it just a crack, conscious of Marianne in her sleeping gown. 

Duncan looked up into Bog's hard blue eyes. “I...I need your help. Something has happened to my wife, Mary. She won't wake up.” 

Bog frowned, but nodded. “I'll be right there.” 

* 

Bog had been quiet while they both quickly dressed and Marianne decided not to press him. She simply dressed. 

Bog, clad now in his robes, and Marianne in her traveling dress, made their way downstairs and through the kitchens to the back of the inn where the rooms of the innkeeper and his wife were located. Duncan led them to a small bedroom where his wife Mary lay on her back, hands folded over her chest as if in death. Marianne gasped softly when she saw the woman. She was lying utterly still, a silk coverlet (probably a wedding present since that was quite expensive) covered her lower body and her features were anything but peaceful. She looked as if she were in terrible pain. Her skin looked so pale that she was almost white, reminding Marianne of white marble. Bog's expression, which had been fighting between stoney and pained since he had told her they were needed downstairs, now turned gentle as he sat on the side of the bed and laid his hand along the womean's cheek, then against her forehead. He frowned slightly studying her, his fingers brushed gently along her cheek, then over her lips. He pulled the woman's lips back, leaning forward to sniff her breath, then he pulled her eyelids back gently and studied her eyes. Bog then motioned for Marianne to step closer. 

“Touch her face. Tell me what you feel?” Bog asked softly. 

Marianne reached out laying the back of her hand against the woman's forehead. “She feels cold.” 

Bog nodded. “Now smell her breath.” 

Bog leaned back a little as Marianne leaned close, her shoulder brushing against his shoulder. She had a difficult time focusing on her task when she could feel the heat radiating off of Bog. She took a breath and sniffed. The innkeepers wife's breath smelled of...Marianne murmured more to herself though Bog could easily hear her this close to him. “Valerian, lavender, St. John wort?” She turned to Bog for confirmation. He gave her a smile and nodded. “Aye, very good.” 

Marianne stood back smiling. Bog turned to the husband. “I'm guessing she took an herbal mix tea for sleep?” 

Duncan nodded. “Aye, Mary sometimes made herself a tea to help her sleep at night. She's been having some bad dreams of late, but nothing unusual. Just need a good nights sleep when you're running an inn.” 

Bog nodded. “No, no, the herbs are fine. No...I think something arcane is at work, however.” 

Marianne frowned at him. “What do you mean?” 

Bog turned to Duncan. “Can you bring my lady here a chair and would you mind leaving us to work?” 

Duncan nodded. “Of course, of course. Can I bring you anything else?” 

Bog smiled. “Perhaps some strong tea.” 

* 

Bog leaned his elbows on his knees, grabbing his forehead for a moment, his long fingers kneading into skin. Marianne gently put her hand on his shoulder. “Bog?” 

“Remember what I told you about last night, the dream magic you wove without realizing it?” Bog dropped his hands to study her. 

Marianne nodded. For a moment the kiss came rushing to the forefront of her mind, but she quickly pushed that image away, the clear distress on Bog's face made that easy. 

Bog nodded. “I think you might have attracted some...thing.” 

Marianne's voice dropped to a whisper. “What?” 

Bog touched Mary's hand. “Not just because of you. I mean...” He stopped to gather his thoughts and when he started to speak again, he demonstrated with his hands. “It's like a ripple effect. Something big is happening at that village we are traveling toward....like a large stone thrown into a lake. The stone makes its impact, but then ripples spread from the source. In this case whatever is in the town was large enough and created enough of an impact that the ripples attracted or brought other creatures with it. Because of this, there are all sorts of monsters whirling around out there looking for victims. Someone like you, powerful—untrained—can sometimes perform a spell without knowing what you're doing. And then you can attract the attention of things...” He stared at her, his blue eyes filled with pain and...did she see fear? Bog sighed. “Sometimes, most times, nothing happens. They are too weak or have no foothold in our world from which to attack or attach to you. But because of whatever is happening in that village...well, you being powerful and untrained has attracted something.” 

Bog hung his head, sliding his long fingers into his hair in clear worry. 

With a growl Bog hissed. “This is my fault. I should have been thinking more clearly, should have known something else might be lurking out there. I shouldn't be surprised this happened.” He frowned looking at Mary's unmoving form. “I should have paid more attention to your studies, your abilities. I knew you were strong. I was just being a dunder-headed fool.” 

Marianne covered her mouth with her hands. “This...this is my fault?” 

Bog stood, grabbing her shoulders and turned her to face him. “No, it's not your fault Marianne. If anything, it's my fault. I should have...I'm the teacher Marianne. ” He sighed. 

“It's my fault. I should have known...should have realized...I was so stupid.” 

Bog stepped away from her with a growl. “It probably rode in with whatever is happening at that village...spirits only know what else is out there.” 

Marianne reached out taking his hand, tugging until he turned around. “It's not your mistake Bog. It's the mistake of whoever opened the doorway for whatever came to our world in the first place. Now together we need to fight it.” She looked up at him with determination in her eyes. She looked so brave, so young, so fearsome. Bog had never seen anyone as beautiful, and he realized he was falling just a little more in love with her and he hated himself for it. 

Bog took a deep breath. “Very well. I'm going to have to go in there after her. Chances are I'll have to kill whatever this is in order to bring her back.” He made this statement with a lack of inflection in his voice, as if it were a simple matter to drop into someone's dream and kill some creature he knew nothing about. 

Marianne felt her blood go cold. She frowned staring at him. “What?” 

Bog dropped her hand rubbing the back of his neck and turning to pace. “I'm going to have to go into her dream and kill whatever has a hold of her. I can't reach her from out here and there are several things this could be...unless I know what I'm fighting I could be throwing magic at it and either I would just be feeding it, making it more powerful or doing nothing at all.” 

Bog started to gesture while he spoke speaking out loud but clearly more to himself than to Marianne. “ It could be so many things, a Night Mare, a Mara, an Alp...simply a spirit, ghost...or worse, a demon...a devil...and there are worse things than those. I have to get in there and root it out, kill it before it becomes too strong. Once it has a foothold, Mary wouldn't be the only victim...” Bog was muttering now, clearly having forgotten about Marianne who was staring at him, her brow furrowed, her eyes following his erratic movement. 

“Well, then you're not going in there alone,” Marianne concluded. “You're taking me with you.” 

Bog's head shot around as he stared at her in horror. “No!” 

“Why not? You said I was powerful—then let me help. And you said that my magic might have been what drew its attention. That means I have a responsibility to help. Bog, I'm not just your student, I'm a princess and as a princess I have a responsibility to the people, especially if I'm the one who caused them harm.” 

Bog shook his head. “Marianne, it's not...just...you're untrained and...” 

Marianne held a finger up at Bog, stopping his words instantly, her air and glare showing the princess not the student. “Bog. You need me to help you. You don't know what you're dealing with in there. Two going up against something is better than one.” 

Bog frowned, primarily because he knew she was correct. It would be safer if there were two of them, but the thought of something happening to her hurt him. The mere thought made his chest compress, his blood run cold. 

Bog stared at her, at the determined expression on her face and realized he just couldn't fight her. Hell, he didn't want to really. But he knew without a doubt she would win, that her strong will would roll right over him. He had to admit to himself, he admired her for her determination. The wizard took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.” 

Marianne looked surprised when he didn't put up more of the fight. She smiled. A light knock sounded at the bedroom door and Duncan opened it carrying a tray on which sat two mugs of tea. 

Bog smiled just a little. “Ah Duncan, just the man I needed.” 

He motioned the innkeeper into the room. 

Bog had begun to move what little furniture there was in the room out of the way trying to clear a spot on the floor next to Mary's bed. Bog spoke while he worked. “We are going to need something to lay on to be comfortable; a mattress, or several blankets, pillows, and we need you to watch over us.” Bog glanced at Duncan. “We are going to need someone to pull us out if something goes wrong.” 

Duncan paled. “How will I know?” 

“Oh, you will have no trouble telling if we are in trouble,” Bog explained with a serious expression. Duncan frowned looking upset and swallowed. “What would I need to do?” “Just awaken us,” Bog stated simply. “Now, we need that mattress....” 

Duncan nodded and hurried out of the room to fetch what Bog had requested. Bog turned to Marianne, layed his hands on her shoulders. His grip was firm but gentle. “I will be the lead. You will have to hold my hand to enter the dream with me and you will need to stay close. If we become separated you won't be able to get back...at least I don't think you will. Though you are quite powerful, you are also untrained in navigating other-dimensional locales...I don't know...” He shook his head realizing he was becoming sidetracked. “So, once in the dream we need to stay close. Any injuries that befall us in the dream will appear on our bodies as real injuries. You will be able to attack with magic, but it might be limited which is why you need to summon a weapon. We have a few minutes, I'm going to teach you a quick spell to summon a blade. It's always good to have something on you in the event that magic fails,” Bog said softly. He gently ran his hands down her arms and took her hands in his while he spoke. 

“But isn't the weapon magic too?” Marianne asked squeezing his hands. 

Bog chuckled. “Yes, but its more like you are summoning it to you than that the object is made of magic...look, we can discuss magic theories in regards to objects later; right now you just need to know how to arm yourself.” 

Marianne nodded. “All right, sorry.” 

Bog smiled at her. “Now pay close attention.” 

* 

When Duncan returned, he and one of the boys that worked in the yard was with him. He was a young boy of no more than twelve and he was helping Duncan to carry a large straw mattress. Bog pointed to the space he had cleared next to Mary's on the bed. “Just right there.” 

The mattress was set down, a lumpy grey thing, but the straw inside was clear and sweet smelling. The mattress was followed by a young woman who came in right behind the two men with pillows stuck under her arms. Bog directed her to toss the pillows onto the mattress. “All right, everyone but Duncan leave,” Bog ordered, pointing at the door. The two young people quickly fled, the steel in Bog's voice sent them running out of the room with only one backward glance. 

Bog turned to Duncan pointing at a chair that he had positioned alongside the mattress. “All you need to do is just watch our bodies. You may see wounds or bruises appear on us, but do nothing to awaken us unless a wound is life threatening or we are clearly in distress.” 

Duncan nodded. “Aye, I will Master Wizard.” 

Bog smiled. “Please. Just Bog.” He turned his attention to Marianne. “Are you ready?” 

Marianne was nervous, but she nodded. She had the spell he had taught her in a few minutes, burned into her memory, a spell to summon a sword. She was as ready as she could be. Bog took her hand and guided her to the mattress. Marianne laid down on her back, smiling at up at him. Bog flushed glancing away before he dropped down beside her, placing himself between Marianne and the innkeeper's wife on the bed next to them. Bog reached over to take Marianne's hand, wrapping his fingers through hers then placing their joined hands against his chest. Marianne swallowed nervously, but his hand holding hers gave her strength. He then reached up and took Mary's cold hand in his and closed his eyes. 

Bog began to speak. No, he was singing. He had told her just before the innkeeper had returned with the mattress, that he could do the spell in his head, but that it would be easier for her to follow him if the spell was done out loud. He hadn't told her more than that... 

She felt him reach out and trace something with the tip of his finger against the back of her hand. She followed the movement of his finger with her mind's eye, a sigil for sleep, then Bog began to singing in a gentle soothing voice. 

Bog's voice was soft, the accent like a smooth caress across her skin. He started out humming softly at first, but when he did begin to speak she realized he wasn't actually chanting a spell, but singing a lullaby. 

“Can ye no hush your weepin' all the wee lambs are sleepin' 

Birdies are nestlin' nestlin' together 

Dream Angus is hirplin' oer the heather 

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell 

Angus is here wi' dreams to sell Hush ye my baby and sleep without fear 

Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear. 

List' to the curlew cryin' Faintly the echos dyin' 

Even the birdies and the beasties are sleepin' But my bonny bairn is weepin' weepin' 

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell 

Angus is here wi' dreams to sell Hush ye my baby and sleep without fear 

Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear.” 

Marianne felt the moment the magic caught her, like a caress across her cheek, then a pull as if Bog were tugging her into his arms and holding her against his chest. She felt warm, safe, his scent enveloped her, his very being seemed to flow around her, through her. Sharing the magic was the most intimate embrace she had ever shared, as if Bog were sharing part of himself with her. And though the connection was intimate though she didn't actually see Bog, only felt him. 

Marianne moved forward, her spirit drifted without a body yet she was aware, not just in sight, but feeling. She could still hear the sound of Bog singing, his voice was compelling her forward, his presence was all around her, holding her, protecting her. Then in the next moment Marianne felt a rush as if all of her was being poured into a form, then she blinked and Marianne found herself standing on a tiny island dominated by a large elm tree. 

Marianne glance around. The light reminded her of twilight, that breath of time between day and night. She looked up into the branches of the tree. The branches of the elm tree reached up into the blue black sky, like hands stretching for something, reaching toward a sky that was littered with diamonds. Marianne gazed around her, struggling to get her bearings. Dark water lapped along the shores of the tiny island where strange greyish grass at her feet moved in a breeze she couldn't feel. There was as small rowboat, only large enough for two people made of grey and neglected looking wood, that was halfway up into the grey grass, resting on the shore of the tiny island. 

Marianne frowned looking around her as she noticed that she was alone. 

“Bog?” she called softly as if afraid to speak too loudly or she might draw the attention of something. “Bog, where are you?” 

“Here.” 

She turned and there he was standing on the shore of the tiny island where only moments before there had been nothing. Marianne let out a sigh of relief, for the briefest of moments she had thought she was here alone. 

“Where are we?” She asked walking over to stand beside him, her fingers reaching out to brush against his wanting to make sure he was real. Bog's hand reached out and took hers. His grasp was firm, warm, real. He held her hand, but didn't look at her; his eyes were focused on something across the water. 

“We're on the edge of Mary's dream.” Bog pointed across the water where Marianne could see the shore. There was more of the grey grass there, and land that spread out before them, rolling fields of tall grass, but she could see the shape of something in the distance...a castle? Marianne couldn't be sure, but it was a dark shape. 

“Can you see it?” Bog asked her, glancing down at her. In the twilight of this world, Bog's blue eyes glowed intensely. Marianne looked up at him, his hand holding hers, his eyes intense and for a brief second she forgot why they were here...she shook herself and turned to follow where he had pointed. “You mean that...castle?” 

Bog nodded. “Yes, that is where we need to go.” 

Marianne frowned then nodded. “I'm ready.” 

Bog smiled looking down at her again. He surprised her when he reached out and dragged his finger along her jaw forcing her head up. He opened his mouth to say something when they both heard a sound come from the distance. Marianne was at a loss of describe the sound, but it raked across her nerves and sent a chill through her bones. Bog's hand around hers tightened. 

“Is that it?” Marianne asked, her voice a whisper. 

Bog nodded. “Aye.” 

“Can you tell what it is?” she asked squeezing his hand tighter. 

Bog shook his head. “No, but I have an idea. Let us go; Mary needs our help.” 

Bog, maintaining a hold on the princess's hand, led her over to the rowboat. He carefully helped her into the boat before pushing the tiny craft out onto the water, grabbed the oars and hopped onto the boat gracefully. Bog began to row. His thin body was deceptively strong as he rowed them swiftly across the distance. He hopped out grabbing the boat and dragging it the last few inches onto the shore before he helped her out. No sooner had their feet touched the shore than they both heard the terrifying roar of the creature in the distance. 

Bog narrowed his eyes. “It knows we're here. Be ready. It will try to stop us.” 

Marianne started to ask how when they both saw the creatures, dark shadows leaping and loping through the tall swaying grey grass, long lean shadows coming straight for them. 

Bog let go of her hand. He stepped to the side and she could feel the shimmer of magic like a caress over her skin. Bog's clothing changed from what he had been wearing before they entered the dream into something else entirely. The clothing he was wearing seemed to whip out, rotate around his body wrapping him in a tight form fitting armour until Bog stood, dressed all in black, every inch of skin was covered in black leather. Tight buckles that ran across his torso and chest forming into a thick leather armor. Plates formed across his shoulders and along his spine. The pants formed along his legs, leather wrapping around his calves and up to his thighs forming thick black leather boots. Another ribbon of darkness wrapped around his hips forming a belt and scabbard. His arms and hands were covered in additional darkness leaving only his fingers showing. In the next instant a sword seemed to flow from his palm, a long black blade that seemed to be a mix of starlight and shadow, the thick crossguard curved back toward his wrist. 

Marianne was speechless staring at him. Bog turned to look at her, resembling a dark knight from a story. “What are you waiting for?” Bog hissed. “Your sword!” 

Marianne nodded, coming to her senses quickly. She recited the spell Bog had taught her only moments before, felt the tug and pull of the magic and then her transformation began. Bog hadn't told her that calling her weapon to her would change her clothing into armor, but that was exactly what happeend. Brown leather flowed around her middle, then armor formed over her breasts and around her shoulders. From the leather around her stomach a heavy skirt formed, layered and thick leather mixed with metal, over leather leggings. Mail links rolled down her arms, with thick brown leather gauntlets over that, leaving only her fingers bare. Her legs were wrapped in more thick brown leather, boots that ran up her thighs formed along with a thick belt similar to Bog's at her hip. Her weapon flowed from her hand, a long thin blade with a straight crossguard, while the metal of the blade looked like pure starlight. 

Bog grinned at her, it was a smile filled with admiration and a little bit of ethusiasm. 

“I'm glad you're here Marianne.” 

She swelled with pleasure, but she didn't have time to enjoy his comment before the creatures were upon them.


	11. Nightmares and Monsters

The creatures burst from the tall grasses; now that they were close the shadows took form. For just a moment Marianne thought they were simply large black dogs, but when the four creatures landed in front of them she realized just how wrong she was. They were dog-shaped with four legs, snouts and tails, but that was where the similarities ended. These beasts had mouths full of double rows of sharp teeth, their backs were hunched, the claws that extended from their paws were long and wicked looking. When they roared, their mouths opened too wide and there seemed to be a deep orange glow that came from the very depths of the monsters' throats. 

But what really made Marianne's blood run cold was the red of their eyes. That burning redness sent a chill through Marianne down to the very marrow of her bones. Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to fight, that she was frozen in place, she heard Bog beside her. 

“You can do this Marianne. I believe in you.” Bog's voice was strong and warm. Marianne spared him a glance. He wasn't looking at her, his eyes on the monsters before them, but there was something majestic in his sharp profile, the determination in his blue eyes and the way he stood, holding his sword down, ready. In his other hand she could see and feel the gathering swirl of magic, a burning flame that twisted and danced in the palm of his hand becoming a ball of flame that looked for a brief second like two small dragons chasing each others tails. 

“Bog...” she said his name with a hint of fear. 

Bog glanced at her then, turning his face just enough for her to see the vicious, excited smile on his lips. That was the moment Marianne knew that this was the real Bog, not the grumpy teacher, the solitary wizard, shut up in his tower with his mother, cutting himself off from everyone. This was what he lived for, to be free to use his magic to its fullest without worry or limitations. This was the real man, a powerful wizard with arcane power at his fingertips, now able to use his gifts freely. 

Bog grinned, showing off his crooked teeth, the smile reaching his blue eyes and made them dance in the twilight of this place. 

“They're weak to fire Marianne, your specialty.” Then he winked. “Don't hold back. You're stronger here than in the real world tough girl.” 

Marianne's own smile met Bog's. She could feel the pull of her magic, the urge to set it free. Marianne focused her will and in that moment, she felt eldritch energy jump to her call, opening up the possibilities of what she could do without hinderance, without conscience holding her back. Fire whirled around her extended left hand, the flames twisting and twirling, forming into horses, wild beasts made of fire. She was surprised at the sight and almost lost hold of her magic, but she quickly yanked it back under her control just as one of the beasts roared. 

Bog sneered and let out a cry of his own. “Die hounds!” 

Bog threw his hand out. The fire dragons whipped away from his outstretched hand, lacing around his long fingers which looked, for a moment, like claws. The fire dragons twirled around each other, gaining size until they were each nearly the size of the hellish hounds before they slammed into the face of one of the hounds and burst into flames. The pyrotechnic dragons disintegrated on impact, but the fire itself raced along the body of the monster, burning as it went. The black beast next to the one Bog had just caught on fire leapt at him. Marianne only had a moment to see Bog rush forward, his sword raised over his shoulder as his eyes flashed and held his lips pulled back in a grin. Bog and his sword hit the beast, but she wasn't able to see what happened next.. 

She was forced to turn when both of her own hounds decided to try to flank her, circling around her, their jaws dripping with saliva that burned where it hit the ground. Marianne held both arms out to her sides, holding the sword in an iron grip in her right hand while the fire horses raced and danced up her left arm. She smiled and twisted around to the right, throwing out her left arm, the tiny horses raced down her limb gaining size within a heartbeat until they were the size of full horses. They raced toward one of the hounds lifting up on the their back fiery hooves, fire spouting from their nostrils as they neighed and attacked. Marianne swung around with her sword, grasping it with both hands now. 

She let her mind relax, smiling, remembering Bog giving her the sword to use as a focus. Marianne twisted around using her whole body to put power behind her stroke, slashing at the monster as the dog-like thing snapped its jaws at her. She slashed it across the snout, leaving a mark, but her blade did very little damage. Marianne frowned taking several steps backward to avoid another snap of its jaws before she lunged forward. She slashed with her sword again, taking several slices at the monster, but the dog monster leapt back with a snap of its jaws, avoiding her blows. 

The other creature was fighting off Marianne's flame-created horses. The creature was surrounded, each move it made was met by a flaming hoof or a snap from the flaming flat teeth of the horses. They were keeping the creature occupied so that Marianne could deal with the one in front of her. 

She took several steps to the side, forcing the creature to follow her. She caught sight of Bog, who was fighting hard, his teeth clenched in a grimace as he dodged one of the monster's paws, but the other giant clawed paw of the beast struck him in the side, nearly knocking him off his feet. She saw him stagger. The urge to move to his aid almost caused her to lose sight of her own monsters. 

Her attention divided, she wasn't prepared for the hound's lunge at her thigh, only barely avoiding its attack, the bite close enough that she heard the snap of the monsters jaws. Marianne lashed back with her sword, again cutting the creature, but doing no real damage. The other monster, surrounded by her horses was not fairing so well, its hide burning in places, no matter which way it turned a hoof lashed out at it. The horses' flames had turned a deep blue, streaked with white, she could feel the heat coming from the magical fire, leaving blackened grey grass around them. 

The monster she had wounded with her sword circled back to her left. Marianne feinted a lunge at the monster. The dog snapped its jaw at her, but Marianne brought her sword around, using the hilt to slam the beast's mouth shut and with a snarl Marianne summoned fire to her hand again, smashing her hand down on the creature's head. The flame burned bright, changing from orange to blue, burning with the heat of her rage and with the beat of her heart. The creature let out a snarl of pain and fear, rearing up before yanking itself backwards with enough force that it knocked Marianne backwards and almost off her feet. 

* 

Bog twisted around barely avoiding the swipe of one paw, but he miscalculated, coming in too close to the hound that was badly burned, though still breathing. Weakly it snapped its jaws at Bog. One wickedly curved, long fang caught Bog in the side, ripping through his armor and into his skin. Bog hissed at the pain that burned cold instead of hot mixed with the sudden hot flash of blood coating his side. He took several stumbling steps backwards away from the creature, grasping his left side with one hand. Bog moved his fingers to see them stained red with his blood. His head snapped up and Bog growled, fire suddenly racing up Bog's blade starting at the place where his hand was grasping the hilt. 

* 

Marianne kept her footing, catching a glimpse of Bog's sword surrounded in flame. She grinned. Her magic jumped to her call, a twisting circle of fire raced up the blade surrounding it in a wreathe of fire. She noticed the other creature was lying on its side unmoving, a steady fire burning on its body. Good, one less to worry about. 

Marianne panted and smiled with a mocking call: “Here doggy doggy.” 

The monster let out a spittle flying roar and charged. She moved swiftly, racing toward the monster at the same moment it charged her. She dropped to her knees praying to whatever deity wizards prayed to, hoping she slid like she wanted under the beast. Her knees hit the ground hard and she could feel the grass and rocks cutting painfully against the leather as she was propelled forward. Her momentum from the run forward sent her sliding at the very moment the creature leapt at her. She brought her burning blade up, her entire body bowing backwards, the blade raised. The flaming metal hit the creature, burning through his thick hide; at the same time that her blade cut through, the creature's steaming entrails dumped from its body, just barely missing Marianne as she finished her slide from under the monster. 

She rolled around, turning to see the creature flopped on its side, limbs twitching as it took its final breath. Marianne dropped forward on her hands and knees trying to catch her breath and grinning. 

* 

Bog snarled, his sword moving back and forth in almost inhumanly rapid slashes that forced the monster to back up. His second foe had finally fallen, the fire having melted through its hide killing it. The monster Bog was fighting was being driven mad; the smell of Bog's blood filled its nostrils and it wanted to taste his blood, eat his flesh. Bog growled, panting; every breath he took made his side burn with agony, but his blows became more and more aggressive, the fire on his blade burning hotter as Bog's anger took over. 

He snarled and spat. “You sarding cunt!! Ya nudnik boady blaigeard!! I'm going to slice yer sarding heart out!!!” 

(Marianne had stumbled to her feet, her cheeks turning red at the words coming out of Bog's mouth as he drove that monster dog across the grass. She grinned as she watched Bog fight.) 

The creature kept lunging, trying to snap at Bog, but he cut it across its snout, the flames and blade left a deep slash across the snout that bled thick black blood. The creature let out a whine and tried again, but Bog again drove it back. Marianne saw the monster make a fatal move. It put its head down, its weight on its front paws before it took a swift lunge, mouth open wide... 

Bog twisted expertly out of the creature's way, holding his sword up high. The wizard's maneuver put him alongside the creature, granting him the opportunity tobring the blue burning blade down and slice the monster's head from its torso. 

Marianne stood panting, watching Bog. The entire area smelled of burning grass, burning dog and the light coy scent of magic in the air thick around them. She watched Bog stand there, breathing heavily, glaring down at the monster he had just killed before he grabbed his side and dropped to his knees. 

* 

The innkeeper was sitting near the two mages watching their sleeping forms. Duncan had stared in fascination, watching the sweat appear on their brows. He gasped in shock when he saw blood start to ooze and stain the left side of Master King's clothing. He didn't move at first, not sure if he should wake him. Otherwise Master King seemed still...Duncan stood up and slipped out the door. He looked around then saw one of the barmaids helping to set up in the kitchen dash by. 

“Nora! Come here girl!” Duncan called out. 

Nora, a short, plump sweet young woman of seventeen, stopped in her tracks carrying a fresh jug of milk to the kitchen. “Yes sir?” 

“Fetch me those clean bandages from the back and the moss.” Duncan glanced back at the door where the mages slept. 

Nora frowned. “Are you hurt sir?” 

“No no, just do it girl and hurry it up.” Duncan quickly dashed back in the room to check on everyone, but Bog's wounds did not seem to be getting worse which he took as a good sign. 

Nora came rushing into the room a few minutes later and stopped dead when she saw the two people lying on a straw mattress on the floor and Mary on the bed, all of them looking dead to the world. The tall lean man on the floor was clearly bleeding. 

“Come here girl, help me get his tunic up!” Duncan had carefully maneuvered himself between Bog and Marianne, careful not to break the hold of their hands or the hold that Bog had on his wife. Duncan swallowed his tears. He was grateful for these two taking the time to try to save his wife and looking at the blood seeping through Bog's clothing, he realized just what a risk these two wizards were taking. It took a little work, but soon Duncan and Nora had Bog's clothing moved out of the way enough to reveal a nasty deep wound on his side, the edges ragged and blackened as if the man had been frostbitten. Duncan frowned, paling, but Nora squeaked, nearly passing out at the sight of the wound and so much blood. 

Duncan glared at the girl. “Don't you dare go swooning on me. Get some water now, hurry!” 

Nora zipped out of the room. Duncan examined the wound carefully. Bog jerked when Duncan pulled at the wound; clearly it was painful. He wasn't an expert on such things, but it looked bad, the black spreading from the wound and though it wasn't moving quickly, it was spreading. He would do what he could; he was accustomed to cleaning and tending wounds on the cows sometimes or when a fight in the bar started over a pretty girl or too much ale. He would do what he could. 

Nora returned with a pitcher of water, looking pale and wobbly. Duncan sighed. “Go on Nora. I'll take care of him. Just go and fetch Cormac, tell him I need him to run the inn for right now.” 

Nora nodded, sweating before she hurried out of the room. 

Dale took a steadying breath and began to clean the wound the best way he could, pad it with moss before he bandage the wizard's side. 

* 

Marianne frowned as she moved to drop to her knees next to Bog. 

“Bog, you're hurt,” she said softly as she leaned down carefully putting her arm around him, helping him to his feet. She could see the dark blood staining the leather of his armor, but what scared her most was how pale he had become. 

Bog sighed with exhaustion. “It's fine. We need to keep moving.” 

He stood up with her help, sliding his sword into the scabbard at his hip. He winced, but stood up straight. 

“Can't you do a healing spell or something?” she asked. She could see a hint of the flesh beneath his leather, she had thought it was just as shadow, but then she realized she was wrong. The skin around the wound was black. “Bog I think...” 

“Marianne, we don' t have time for this. Mary is in that castle with whatever has her. It will kill her if we don't do something.” Bog looked down at her, his skin grey, dark circles under his eyes which made his eyes stand out in startling constrast, but Marianne knew he was correct. 

She nodded. “All right, let's go--quickly.” She stood close to his side, not wanting to put any distance between them as they walked. 

* 

The way to the castle seemed easy enough as there was only open space filled with tall grass ahead of them. Bog walked slowly, his blue eyes moving quickly back and forth trying to pay attention to every detail, ever alert for danger. Marianne had her arm around his waist to help him. The fact that he didn't bite her head off was not a good sign; he was clearly hurting more than he was telling her since he was accepting her help silently without comment. 

They were nearing their destination, close enough that Marianne could make out the details of the black castle. It looked to be made of stone, but the stone was of varying shades of black and grey as if it had been formed from shadows. There seemed to be four, maybe five towers around the castle's tall stone walls, but Marianne could see no identifiable entrance. 

Marianne frowned while Bog stepped away from her, examining the area. Marianne was chewing her lip when she felt something on her boot, a pressure against her toes. She glanced down to see what looked like vines, or moss, maybe a combination that seemed to have moved across her boot. She furrowed her brow looking around; more of the mossy vines led off into the distance. She shrugged shaking her foot free. She walked a few steps when she thought she saw something on the ground ahead of her as she moved ahead. It was odd she thought, she could almost forget she was in a dream and not reality. When she came closer to what she had seen, she reached out and picked it up. She stood holding up the object tilting her head when she realized what she was holding was a bone. 

Marianne gasped, dropping it. “Bog?” 

She turned, but didn't see him. “Bog?” She turned a full circle looking around when she felt a tug on her leg. She glanced down to see the vine was wrapped around her calf. Marianne tried to tug her leg away, but the vine yanked hard and Marianne's legs went out from under her. She hit the ground hard, the air knocked from her lungs making her gasp. 

“BOG!!” 

Whatever had her suddenly yanked hard again and Marianne was dragged across the ground. “BOG!!!” 

* 

Bog frowned, He still didn't see a way into the castle. No gate, no entrance in the stone...nothing. It had to be magic he thought, a spell to open the castle...he winced, his side aching. He could feel the cold slowly crawling up his side like vines, numbing him. If he didn't have this taken care of soon it would kill him, but he didn't want to tell Marianne. She didn't need to worry about that, he would get her out, her and Mary, that was all that mattered. He took a few steps suddenly overcome with dizziness. His side ached badly, making breathing difficult. He would need to seal the wound before they went further...cauterize it. 

Bog had just started to walk back when he heard Marianne scream his name. “BOG!!” 

Bog took off at a run, racing aback to where he had left Marianne nearly stumbling to a stop when he realized she wasn't there. He turned in a circle looking, but saw nothing...no sign of her. “MARIANNE!!” 

Bog's heart was beating fast, pounding inside his chest hard enough that it hurt, he felt numb. No no no no....he wasn't going to lose her, not like this...not now...not when... 

“Calm Bog...” he whispered to himself. 

“BOG!” 

Bog turned at the sound of his name as Marianne's voice drifted on the dead air. Bog heard her voice coming from his left so he took off at a run. The run, the pumping of his blood was spreading the poison from his wound, sending the chill through his blood faster, but he didn't care, he had to find her. “MARIANNE!” 

“BOG HERE!!” 

He turned again following her voice, when he saw it, a great tree that he could have sworn had not been there before. It was a black tree, like so much else in this nightmarescape, its dead branches lacking leaves reached up to the twilight sky. Hanging from the branches were vines, hundreds of vines and dangling from one, slowly being wrapped like a present in a cocoon of vines and webbing was Marianne, hanging upside down from one of the branches, but slowly spinning her was another creature...a giant spider. This spider was the size of a pony, the body and carapace were black and shiny reminding Bog of a giant blood-filled tick, one prick would burst the creature in a geyser of blood and pus. Its long eight legs ended in sharp blade-like points, the face had four giant glossy black eyes with two sets of deadly looking mandibles. When the monster spied Bog, the creature made a chittering sound that he felt in the marrow of his bones. 

Marianne was struggling weakly...spinning slowly in a circle. Bog couldn't be sure, but he would bet she had been stung, drugged or poisoned. Her reactions seemed sluggish and he could see her sword on the ground beneath her. The fact that she hadn't used any of her magic told him she wasn't thinking straight or she was wounded. Bog cursed bitterly. He should have known there would be something else, that those hounds were not the only line of defense between them and what they were hunting. He was stupid! And now he had put Marianne in danger because of his stupidity, his oversight! His heart twisted in his chest... 

Bog snarled as he pulled his blade out, shifted the hilt in his hand to get a more comfortable grip. Magic was roiling from him with enough intensity that his hair moved in the waves of arcane energy that had begun to surround him. Bog licked his lips and narrowed his eyes, then without stopping to consider his actions, Bog charged with a roar. His need to protect Marianne, that thought washed away any pain he was feeling, banished the cold from his thoughts. 

* 

Marianne felt dizzy, disoriented. She had struggled with the vine that had worked its way higher and higher up her body, dragging her along the ground as it moved up her torso. She had screamed for Bog's help, struggled to get free, but then she had seen the spider. It was the biggest thing, monster, she had ever seen. The way it moved made her want to scream in fright, but she had fought that urge. Maybe if she had run when she had first realized that vine was snaking up her body she wouldn't be twisting in the wind...literally, right now. She giggled, (which somewhere in the back of her mind she realized was a really inappropriate response to her current circumstances) the venom making her feel happy and a little silly, relaxed. She had tried pulling her sword out...she remembered doing that, where was her sword? Her body twisted around slowly. She looked around on the ground for it...Now, though, her thoughts were so difficult to hold on to... 

Every movement now was a difficult task by itself too. Oh...now she remembered...when she had pulled her sword , something...she couldn't seem to focus on what that something had been...oh yes...a spider....but something had come out of the shadows at her. She frowned, a spider? Why was that thought so slippery? 

She remembered the fear....she had been scared right? She had felt the burn of a sting in the back of her neck. Now she simply couldn't gather the energy to move. The constant lazy spinning was lulling her to sleep. She had tried calling for Bog, but it had been so hard. Marianne giggled thinking about kissing him...his lips were so soft...his tongue...Mmm...she thought. Wonder what the rest of him was like? She giggled again, spinning slowly. 

But then she had seen Bog. Bog...her knight in black...Part of her mind cleared from the spider's poison, a lucid moment. 

It had taken all her strength and will to call to him. 

Marianne's eyes widened when she saw Bog and she tried to scream. “BOG!” 

* 

The spider turned at the sound of Bog's rage-filled roar. There was such power in the man's voice that it seemed to echo off of walls that didn't exist in this realm. 

“GET AWAY FROM HER YOU FILTH!” Bog raced forward, sword and magic ready to battle the spider. With Marianne in danger, all thoughts of the pain he felt were pushed to the side. He followed his shout with a thrust of his left hand, the fingers spread wide and a blast of magical fire erupted from him. This time the fire lacked the grace of the dragons, but was more just of blast of fire, rage and heat, manifesting itself in a blast, spilling forth from Bog's hand with little finesse or direction. To Marianne, it seemed more a visual representation of Bog's rage as the flame burst forth. 

The fire blast hit the spider, blinding the creature as the flames washed over it. The blast caused the creature to screech in pain, the fire burning across its hide, a portion of its carapace bubbling and boiling for a few seconds. The sound that came from the creature was high and loud. Marianne screamed in pain. 

Bog stumbled when the sudden sound hit him like a blast from a cannon. The sound was high and piecing, washing over Bog in a pained burst causing one of Bog's eardrums to pop with a sickening sound of its own. The pain staggered the tall man, a trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck from his ear. Bog wobbled as a wave of dizziness almost overcame him. Bog was forced to reach up and cover his ears while keeping his hand wrapped around his sword, the sound the creature made was horrifying. It slithered away from Bog's blast of magic, curling toward itself, trying to swerve and come around his left side. 

(Marianne was left sobbing, the sound the monster made was one of the single most painful experiences she had ever endured, but it had also cleared the rest of the venom from her system and suddenly Marianne could think straight. She spun in her web prison when she saw Bog.) 

Bog dropped his hands from his ears, his breath coming in pants as he pushed past the wave of dizziness and nausea. 

The giant spider skittered forward raising up on its back legs bringing its front legs up ready to strike. Marianne screamed. “BOG!!” 

Bog snarled and twisted his body around to meet the creature's attack, his sword coming around with him, the sword an extension of his arm as he put all his body into the swing. The tip of the blade caught the spider across one mandible just as one of its front legs came down to knock Bog to the side. The tip of the blade sliced through the mandible causing the creature to shriek again, but Bog didn't cover his ears this time. Instead Bog gritted his teeth against the noise and he twisted back again, his blade slashing up and under as Bog brought the blade back in an underhanded swing. Then, with another twist, Bog sliced down again, this time detaching the mandible altogether. 

The spider jerked back, black blood dripping from the missing mandible. It made a strange sound between a hiss and moan; the sound it made crawled over Bog's skin. The monstrous black spider surged forward with such speed that the wizard was unprepared for it. The hideous thing rammed into Bog, knocking him completely off his feet. Bog fell backwards hitting the ground hard. The impact knocked the air from his lungs in a painful whoosh. The spider brought its sharply pointed legs down at him, but Bog rolled one way then the next avoiding the stabs. 

Bog cursed, throwing himself to the side, but this time he wasn't quite fast enough. A sharp leg of the spider sliced down at him, too close, the plating at his shoulder deflected the first thrust of the leg, the sound of crushed metal and then it brought its leg down again, ripping through his shoulder, tearing through the side of the metal shoulder guard and ripping through the leather. Bog cried out in pain as the spider's leg went through the meaty part of his shoulder pinning him to the ground. The creature leaned forward thinking it had him. The black blood dripped down from its missing mandible splattered on Bog, its monstrous black eyes glowed as it made a chittering sound leaning in to bite off Bog's head. 

With sweat covering his brow, Bog wrapped both hands around the hilt of his sword and with a snarl he sliced the blade from right to left. The blade wasn't just sharp, it was magically sharp, going completely through the creature, detaching the abdomen from the rest of its body. The spider made a strange gurgle, Bog felt the flood of hot black blood being dumped on him. He dropped his sword and reached up putting his hands against the monster and heaving with all his strength. He tore his shoulder from the spider's grasp at the same moment that he heaved the front half of the spider off to him quickly pushing himself out of the way and stumbling to his feet before falling back on his rear again as the spider's upper half rolled onto hits back, the long sharp legs twitching. The spider made hideous, chittering and gurgling noises before it finally stopped moving, the long deadly legs curling in on itself and went still. 

Bog staggered to his feet. His right arm was numb, the tear in his skin was deep, his ear was a spike of pain, and blood was gushing down his arm. He reached over grabbing the shoulder plate and with all his strength he yanked it free tossing it to the ground. 

He closed his eyes for a long second pushing the pain away. Ignore it he told himself. He needed to get to Marianne. Bog stumbled to his sword, yanking the sword out from the puddle of black blood (the burning quality of the blood had died away within seconds, he noticed.) He made his way to Marianne who was staring at him with wide brown eyes. 

“Are you all right?” Bog asked breathless. 

Marianne nodded. “Yes, I'm all right Bog.” 

He smiled and nodded. “I'm going to cut you out of there. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can catch you.” 

Marianne nodded again. She noticed not only the blood, but Bog was holding his arm at his side, the arm just hanging like a dead weight. 

Bog used his left hand and as carefully as he could he dragged the tip of the sword up and sliced open the cocoon the spider had been spinning around her. Marianne came free, her body dropping. She did her best to fall in such a way as to not hurt herself, but it still hurt like hell when she hit the ground. She quickly rose to her feet and rushed to Bog. He was leaning on his sword like a cane when Marianne came to him. 

“Oh spirits Bog...we need to leave, you can't go on like this!” Marianne examined his shoulder. It looked like a terrible wound, in need of healing beyond anything she knew how to mend. 

Bog shook his head. “I want you to burn it, burn both wounds—then we need to continue. Healing these are beyond my skills.” 

“Burn them? What are you talking about?” Marianne frowned. She was shaking. Bog was pale, almost grey and he was beginning to shiver. 

“Burning will seal the wounds,stop the bleeding. It's our only option.” Bog hissed at her. 

“No, it's not! We can leave!” Marianne pleaded, but Bog shook his head. 

“No Marianne, we can't...we can't let Mary die. If we do, this will not end with her. She will just be the first. We have to stop this here, now.” Bog's voice shook slightly then he hissed again. “Burn them, now.” 

Marianne shook her head. “Bog we can come back, try again!” 

“Marianne we can't! Leaving will give it time to perpare, and next time it might be worse. We have an advantage, we need to press on,” Bog said wearily. 

Marianne shook her head. “Bog I...” 

“Would you prefer I bled to death?” Bog asked with a slight growl. 

“No, of course not!” Marianne tried to be brave, but seeing him hurt like this and the thought of causing him more pain... 

“Then please Marianne...just do it.” Bog sank to the ground, leaning on his sword with his head hanging down and his voice barely audible. “Please, please Marianne.” 

She reached out and ran her fingers through his thick black hair as she swallowed and nodded. She dropped down to her knees beside his shoulder, reached out and worked to pull away the shredded leather to reveal more fully his torn shoulder. Looking at the wound, a wave of nausea passed over her; it was horrible, but she placed both hands over the wound, closed her eyes and focused her magic. The fire came quickly to her, she struggled for a full minute until she felt confident enough to hold the magic steady and controlled its heat before she let it out. Bog jerked, crying out before he snapped his jaw closed on any other sound. 

Marianne held her hands to his wound for the count of five then yanked her hands back. The bloody, gaping wound was closed, but now it was a nasty red and blistered mass. 

She swallowed, not aware of the tears running down her cheeks. “We need to cover it. We need bandages.” 

Bog shook his head. “We don't have any...now my side. Then we need to get moving.” 

Marianne wiped angrily at her tears with the back of her hand, and shifted her position to give herself better access to his other wound. When she pulled back the leather she saw the angry slice across his side and the blackness that was crawling up his skin, stretching further up his torso. 

“Bog, this is bad. What's happening?” Marianne touched the wound gently, but even her light touch cause Bog to jerk. “Nothing,” he hissed. “Just seal it.” 

Marianne pressed her lips together glaring at him, but at the same time deeply worried. She laid her hands on his side, focusing her fire and burning his flesh closed. Bog groaned in pain, digging his fingers into the ground. He wavered. Marianne pulled her hands back and caught him just as he passed out, falling forward heavily. 

“Bog?” Marianne struggled for a moment to hold him, pulling him up against her just as his head flopped onto her shoulder before his whole body began to sink down to the ground. She struggled until she held his head in her arms pressed against her breasts. She stroked her fingers over his cheeks. He was deathly pale but he was still breathing. She looked up and around taking in the desolate landscape, the tree and spider were gone leaving only the castle behind, she was alone.


	12. One I Love

Roland stood outside looking up at the clouds that slowly moved across the sky in a lazy way, reminding him of sleepy sheep that he would watch from his window as a boy, slowly making their way back to their homes in the village. He frowned; he could smell the rain in the air. It had been raining all of last night and the chill in the air was becoming colder, icy. He had a blanket around his shoulders which he pulled closer and for the first time he started to doubt his plan, his reasons for chasing Marianne out here, but when he thought about going home without the princess...what his father would do...Roland's frown deepened with worry and anxiety. Maybe he could just vanish? Never go back. He smiled at the idea of disappearing...becoming his own man... 

“You really should come in or you're gonna get the chilblain or a corruption.” 

Roland turned to see Lily standing in the kitchen behind him. She wore a white linen smock and a laced up kirtle of deep blue over the white smock, the long sleeves of which tappered down to her wrists. She had a simple leather gridle around her hips and her long hair was combed out, the sides braided and pulled back. She looked...beautiful, gentle, young, pure. Roland felt something in his chest twist. He turned away. 

“Leave me be woman.” His voice was gruff to cover how uncomfortable she made him feel with her simple beauty. 

Lily huffed. “Fine. Get a rose nose or the cold plague for all I care!” 

With that she turned and stomped back into the kitchen. Roland turned when she was gone. He frowned, feeling bad for acting like that. She was only...worrying about him, which was a novel thing, he mused. No one worried about him unless he wasn't doing what he was supposed to as a noble. His father was always riding Roland about how he was supposed to act, how he had failed with the princess—or numerous other shortcomings that his father saw in others, and especially in his son. Roland sighed with a curl to his lips. It would serve him right to get the cold plague..he was a fool. Roland sighed again more heavily and walked back into the tower. 

A warm happy fire was blazing away in the kitchen's fireplace making the room cozy. Lily was still in the kitchen. She had grabbed an apron, was angrily kneading some dough and pointedly ignored him when he entered the room. He watched her for a few seconds before he took a breath...he was going to say he was sorry, but instead he asked. 

“Can I help?” 

Lily stilled, her hands in the dough. She looked up slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Why?” 

“Why what?” Roland snapped and folded his arms over his chest. 

Lily stood up straight, glaring at him. “Why would you want to help?” 

“I don't know! Maybe I'm bored!” Roland snarled back. 

“Well, why don't you go be bored outside and let it rain on you!” Lily yelled back. 

Before Roland could form a response, Griselda came in from the main part of the tower. She was dressed similarly to Lily, through her auburn hair was tied up under a headcloth today and her dress was a deep rust red instead of blue. “All right children—that's enough. Don't make me stick you both in a corner.” 

Lily dropped her gaze. “Sorry.” 

Roland stuck his bottom lip out like a petulant child. Griselda sighed. “Roland, if you would like to help, you can start with helping me peel and core some apples. I'm planning on making us a flaune of Almayne for supper tonight.” 

Roland glanced at Lily who had gone back to kneading the dough, pointedly not looking at him. Roland scowled and turned his head back to Griselda who was smiling. Roland made a face, not sure what she was smiling about as he muttered, “Fine, give me the apples.” 

Griselda went to the cupboard and pulled out a heavy wooden bowl full of apples, handing them to him before she fetched another bowl and a peeling knife. “Now, you just sit there on that stool and work on those apples. Lily, you can keep on with the crust dough there. Now I'll be right back, I don't want any more fighting between you two, all right?” 

Both Lily and Roland at the same time responded, “Yes Griselda.” 

She smiled. “Good,” and left the kitchen without a backwards glance. 

Roland glanced over to Lily who had gone back to her dough actively ignoring him. 

* 

Back at the inn, the clouds had begun to move in and the scent of rain was heavy in the air. Duncan, standing in the bedroom he shared, watched in horror as the skin on the wizard named Bog burned and melted from no source at all, the skin reddening and blistering around the wound in his side and Duncan spied more blistering flesh creeping from under the collar of the man's tunic. Duncan had carefully moved the cloth aside on the “sleeping” man to see that a horrible burn was where only moments before blood had soaked through the tunic. Bog jerked in his trance, his face showing that he was clearly in horrible pain, but the young woman didn't move and his wife didn't move. Duncan reached out, his hand hovering over the man, but ultimately he slowly pulled his hand away, wrapping his fingers into a fist and sat back watching until the wizard stopped moving. Duncan moved around the room to the other side where his wife lay. He laid down beside her taking her hand between both of his, holding her hand to his chest. He closed his eyes, tears leaking from the corners of his lids as he prayed to the spirits to save all three of these people. He leaned his head against his wife's shoulder and whispered. “I love ye Mary. Please come back to me. Please.” 

* 

Marianne held Bog close, stroking her fingers through his thick dark hair. 

She whispered softly. “Please Bog, please come back to me.” 

He was breathing still; she could feel his breath brush against her skin when she pressed her cheek to his lips, but he hadn't moved since he collapsed against her, nearly an hour past. She couldn't be sure, time didn't seem to mean much here. She tried to hold back her tears, but she wasn't ashamed to admit she was terrified. Not of being here alone (that scared her, but didn't terrify her like the thought probably should.) No, what terrified her was losing Bog. She wasn't entirely certain what she felt for the wizard. Her feelings seemed mixed up, but whatever these emotions were they roiled and burned in her chest and she wanted to explore them more. She also wanted to kiss him again like they had only hours earlier, though the kiss seemed to have happened ages ago. She wanted to get to know more of the man beneath of layers of the cranky, isolated wizard. She had seen glimpses of the man and she wanted to know more. 

She looked down at him and gently tilted his head back, her bottom lip trembling as tears that she wasn't aware she was crying left trails down her cheeks. Her delicate fingers stroked over his sharp features, caressing his jaw. She kissed his slack lips, his closed eyes. She pressed a kiss to his mouth once more, feeling his shallow breath against her mouth, then whispered against his lips. “Oh Bog please come back. I need you.” 

She pressed her cheek to his forehead. “Bog...” 

She rocked him gently, almost like a child, her arms wrapped tightly around him. She didn't know what to do, lost and alone in this dark place, the man that she wanted more from, in her arms weak and hurt. She had hurt him...yes it was to help, but it stung deeply to see what she had done to him. 

Marianne closed her eyes and whispered a song, rocking back and forth, her voice sounded haunting in the barren landscape of the dream. Her voice cradled the two of them, surrounding them while Marianne sang softly as her heart broke for Bog. She sang not just for him, but for herself as well. 

* 

“One I love, two she loves 

Three she's true to me 

All of my friends fell out with me 

Because I kept your company 

But let them say whatever they will 

I love my love with a free good will 

One I love, two she loves 

And three she's true to me 

They tell me he's poor, they tell me he's young 

I tell them all to hold their tongue 

If they could part the sand from the sea 

They never could part my love from me 

One I love, two she loves 

Three she's true to me 

When I'm awake, I find no rest 

Until his head lies on my breast 

When I'm asleep I'm dreaming of 

My own, my dear, my one true love 

One I love, two she loves 

Three she's true to me 

When the fire to ice will run 

And when the tide no longer turns 

And when the rocks melt with the sun 

My love for you will have just begun 

One I love, two she loves 

Three she's true to me 

One I love, two she loves 

And three she's true to me...” 

* 

Marianne sniffled, holding Bog close against her breast, bowing over him as she continued to sing with a quiet desperation. She held him tightly, her lips to his forehead, when she felt his hand come up to rest against her cheek. 

He muttered softly. “You have such a beautiful singing voice. Have I told you that? If I haven't, I'm definitely a bigger arse than I thought.” 

Marianne yelped arching back to look at him. “Bog!!” 

He gave her a weak smile. “Afraid you haven't gotten rid of me yet.” 

Marianne smiled, fresh tears running rebelliously down her cheeks. “I thought...I was scared that I had...” 

Bog gave her a reassuring smile, the very tips of his fingers brushing her cheek. “You didn't kill me, if that was what you were worrying about. I'm a great deal harder to kill than all that.” 

Marianne leaned into the light feather touch of his fingers. Bog smiled weakly and whispered. “You are so beautiful. I should have told you before...but you are.” 

“Shush, you're delirious.” Marianne smiled with a slight laugh. 

“No, I'm not—just realizing how much of an arse I am,” Bog explained weakly. 

Bog started to push himself up and Marianne quickly helped him stand. She wanted to tell him that he was in no condition to be doing any of this, charging into a castle where spirits only knew what lay in wait like a great spider (thinking of spiders made her skin crawl, but she swiftly brushed that notion aside.) But she didn't say anything about what he shouldn't do because she was quickly realizing this man would do whatever was necessary to save someone...even to his own detriment. That knowledge wrapped itself around her heart. The man didn't look or act like a knight from any of the stories she grew up with as a child, but he certainly had the qualities of one. 

Bog lurched and wobbled to his feet, Marianne coming to her feet with him and putting an arm around his waist to help hold him up, giving him her body to lean against until he stopped wobbling and was able to stand on his own. 

He gave her a smile when he had steadied himself, but Marianne kept her arm around his waist. 

“I guess we move forward?” she asked. 

Bog nodded. “Yes, it's in there and we are going to stop it.” 

Marianne nodded and kept her arm around his waist. Bog put his arm around her shoulders giving her a grateful look before the two of them walked toward the castle. 

* 

They had walked for nearly twenty minutes looking for a way into the structure, but found nothing; no windows, no doors, and only what seemed to be solid stone walls. 

Bog muttered. “Sarding thing just couldn't make it easy could it?” 

Marianne couldn't help the light chuckle that escaped her lips as she heard Bog cursing. He was walking on his own now, though she stayed closed beside him. “How are we going to get in?” 

Bog had stopped walking and gazed up at the walled castle. “Well, we could try and be subtle, to ease an opening, but I'm confident that our opponent already knows we're here—so I think I might just go for blasting our way in. Put whatever it is on the defensive.” 

Marianne frowned. “Do you think that is wise?” 

Bog shrugged. “Nope, but I'm pretty sarding angry.” 

Marianne pressed her lips together on a soft chuckle. Bog glanced sideways at her with a grin on his face. “All right, just follow what I do. I'm going to walk you through this spell, though I think it will be easy for you, again it's another fire based one...you're very good with those.” 

Marianne blushed and nodded. “Just tell me what to do.” 

Bog closed his eyes and held his hands in front of him, holding the fist of one hand in the other. Bog spoke softly. “Once you reach a certain level of magic, you have to do the hand gestures to contain the spell; they're simply too powerful to do without them. Using your sword would be too...big, if that makes any sense. These types of spells are more concentrated. Eventually, the stronger you become, you won't even need the hand gestures for these higher level spells, but for now somatic gestures it is. This is a relativity minor spell compared to some, though when I first learned to do it I needed the hand gestures—it was almost too much for me at the time. I can perform it now without the movements, but for you Marianne, you will need them, though I suspect they won't hold you back for long.” 

The smile he gave her was one of pride and a little bit of wonder. He truly believed she was more powerful than him, but she would learn that in time. He didn't find that intimidating, but fascinating instead. It would be a true wonder to watch Marianne come into her full powers with time and he would take pride in seeing her blossom. He knew a lot of wizards, a lot of men wouldn't like the idea of being surpassed by their student, but Bog knew he could feel nothing but admiration for Marianne. 

Marianne nodded her understanding while she watched him, listening to his words at the same time she replicated his hand movements, holding her right fist in the hand of her left hand, her fingers closed over her right fist, both held close to her body, but not touching. 

Bog continued to speak softly. “Duplicate my hand movements as quickly and as easily as you can. This spell takes quite a bit from you, and for every wrong move you make, it will only force the spell to pull on more of your energy which will make you tired and will limit what spells you can do. Casting is like any physical exercise; your body only contains so much energy which you will expend and without being replaced you will grow weak and tired. Push yourself too far, then your body will fail you. Magic and physical strain are much the same, though magic pulls on your essence. Each time you stumble, it hampers the next try, but it will also make you stronger in time.” 

He glanced sideways, pleased to see how intently she was listening to him. Bog continued speaking in a soft melodic voice, keeping his voice calm while he instructed her. 

“The hand and finger movements are to help you focus, to minimize the stress to your body, the pull on your energy as well as to contain the magic. You are weaving a tight spell of power.” 

Marianne noticed he sounded slightly distracted, his focus clearly balanced between performing the spell while also instructing her. He continued, his accent slightly heavier as his focus was split in two. “You'll eventually approach a point when you have been doing magic enough that you won't need the gestures, just like you already don't need the sword to focus, but until then let the gestures help you, guide your magic.” 

Bog gave her an apologetic smile. “Ideally we would have been working on this for weeks before you would try this sort of spell. It's a strong one—though not the strongest—and this creature is making things difficult. We don't have any more time, and in my case, energy, to play with it. We need to rescue Mary and kill the creature, now rather than later,” Bog concluded with a snarl. 

Marianne nodded gravely. “I understand Bog.” 

Bog smiled at her. “I know you do,” he said softly before returning to his more ;instructor' voice. “Think of fire, think of the burning fire in your heart, your very soul, picture it, the hottest fire you can imagine. I find that focusing on something that makes me angry helps.” Bog chuckled lightly then. 

Marianne frowned watching him. He looked pale still and she could easily see how tired and in pain he was right now though he was performing and admirably good job of hiding his pain. Except Marianne knew Bog well enough now that could see the pain etched in the hollows around his eyes, the dark shadows that played across his features and in the tightness around his mouth. He was hurting a great deal and there was nothing she could do to ease his pain for him. That hurt her. The exposed wounds on his body looked angry, red and painful. She could only imagine the amount of pain he was struggling to suppress in order to look calm and act so calmly...to project that air of 'confidence' he was doing now...for her and for the woman they were trying to save. 

Marianne focused. She was angry, enraged even at what this monster had done already, the taking and torturing of an innocent, the pain it had inflicted on Bog. Focusing her rage would be easy. 

Bog continued speak. “Follow my movements. We will be pulling on that heat, that burning essence of your soul and instead of immediately releasing it, you are going to hold it in your hands. All right?” 

Marianne nodded. “Yes.” 

Bog smiled, then began. At first his hands were close in front of him, not touching his chest, just hovering in front of his torso. Bog then thrust his fists out from his body before opening them as if he were spreading or releasing something. Marianne shot a look at his face, his eyes were focused on his hands, but she could tell his mind was somewhere else. 

Focus on the fire in your soul...Marianne thought to herself, watching Bog's every movement while imagining a flame coming to life in her chest. She returned her attention to Bog, watching the way he moved his fingers and hands. She became a little distracted with how gracefully Bog moved his hands. She realized that the flame she was focusing on within herself was both a flame of rage and also something deeper, a simmering burn of...desire. She flushed bright red glancing at Bog, but he was focused on his quick lesson to her. 

Bog brought his ring finger and thumb together on each hand, holding his palms facing upward, his voice soft as he spoke. “Focus on your anger, watch your hands and feed the magic Marianne.” 

He then brought the two points together before spreading his fingers out, ring finger to ring finger, thumb to thumb spreading out his hands until all fingers touched, spreading his hands wide yet not allowing his palms to touch, only the tip of each finger touching the other. She could tell he was moving slowly for her benefit, but that the gestures should be formed quickly; she could feel the building tension. Next he brought the touching fingers back until they were all together, the fingers in a tight ball, before his flung his hands out, fingers spread wide, palms facing up, a tight ball of fire burst from his hands, speeding so quickly from his outstretched hands that she didn't register the ball of flaming magic until it struck against the wall of the castle. The tight ball of magical fire slammed into the stone, but it didn't burst into an explosion of brick like she expected; instead the wall seemed to waver like water. 

Bog muttered. “Bloody cockchafer creature and its pox-faced castle!” 

Marianne blinked in surprise again at Bog's cursing. He sounded so annoyed and angry which for some reason she found funny considering the dire current circumstances. Which was why she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from a combination of listening to a tired and wounded Bog cursing—the latter of which she found attractive for some reason—to the fact that she was scared and angry that there was some dream-invading creature that wanted to kill them and all the villagers. She had almost been eaten by a spider, had fought a pair of black dogs, then she had been forced to hurt Bog in order to save him...his rescuing her...this bloody castle...learning powerful and dangerous magic on the fly, all of it, every last bit of this situation just came together into a bubbly girlish giggle. The whole situation was just so ridiculously dangerous! And on top of it all, her thoughts kept drifting back to the kiss they had shared. She had kissed her angry, cursing teacher and badly wanted to kiss him again, which fed into her giggling despite everything. 

Bog turned around in a huff of both anger and frustration when it was clear that the magic had done nothing to the wall. He had opened his mouth to rant another curse, but stopped to lift a brow at Marianne in query when he noticed her holding her hands over her mouth trying to stifle her giggle. Marianne looked at him and burst out into laughter. She knew it was the shock, fear and weariness, but she couldn't help but laugh, his lifted eyebrow and clear confusion only feeding the giggle. 

Bog stood there unsure of how to respond, but her laughter was delightful and he found it was a little funny. Bog chuckled. 

Marianne stepped closer. “I'm sorry. Just...your cursing at a wall was.” 

Bog chuckled, looking tired, but his blue eyes were dancing with merriment. “I know...just...” 

Marianne reached up to touch his face, which immediately drew his attention to her. She smiled up at him as her fingers brushed along his jaw and gently directed his mouth down to hers. Bog didn't fight her, he didn't want to. That kiss they had shared had been lingering at the back of his mind since it happened. Marianne pressed her lips to his wrapping her arms around his neck. Bog made a soft moan of release, his mouth coming down to cover hers. Bog's hands came up to cup her face, his palms pressed against her cheeks, his long fingers seemed to wrap around her head, his thumbs caressed the skin by her eyes. Marianne dropped her hands to his shoulders holding on to him, raising up on the balls of her feet to cut the distance between them. 

Bog's mouth moved hotly over hers. Marianne pulled at his lips with her own, her tongue playing over his mouth, seeking the warmth of his tongue. Bog answered her, dropping his hands from her face to wrap his arms around her, pulling her up against him, moving his head to attack her mouth from another angle. Marianne reached up cradling the back of his head, her fingers threading through his dark hair. Bog returned her nips with nips of his own, his hands sliding up her back, bending her back just slightly. Marianne made a soft moan pressing against him when Bog finally broke the kiss. He rubbed his nose against her face, pressing his lips to hers in tiny butterfly kisses. 

He whispered against her mouth. “This is only a dream.” 

Marianne's tongue flicked against his mouth. “Only if you want it to be Bog. Otherwise I fully intend to do this against once we've won and returned to ourselves.” 

Bog's cheeks reddened, then he pressed his mouth hard against hers a moment before he reluctantly let her go. And though they separated, Bog's hands slid down her arms and grasped her hands. He brought them up to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Ready to try this together?” 

Marianne smiled and nodded. “Yes.” 

Together the two wizards stood side by side, the movements of their hands as each performed the required hand gestures were perfectly in-sync with one another, drawing on the magic within them, now fueled not just with anger, but with passion. Simultaneously, Bog and Marianne released their magic at the wall. 

The tightly bound energies left their outstretched hands to rush through the air, weaving together to form one large, powerful denonation as the flaming ball of power slammed into the nightmare castle wall. For a moment it looked as if nothing had happened, then just as Bog started to mutter a curse, the wall shattered, the stones crumbling away to reveal a doorway. Marianne and Bog shared a look. What they saw beyond was only a dark hall that seemed to stretch before them into nothingness. 

Bog pressed his lips together and took Marianne's hand gently in his. “Ready?” he asked. 

Marianne swallowed, but nodded. “Yes.” 

Together they crossed the threshold and stepped into the castle. 

* 

The hall that they walked into looked similar to castle halls to which Marianne was accustomed, except this one was dark and there were no tapestries, statuary, or other decorations along the walls, only the stark grey stone. There was a strange greyish light that seemed to emanate from everywhere and no where. They both stood there examining the hall that seemed to have no other doors or side corridors, only a straight passage. 

“Do you think there will be any other monsters here waiting for us?” Marianne asked in a whisper. For some reason the atmosphere made her want to whisper, as if she were afraid of being heard by something...maybe she was, but she leaned close to Bog when she spoke. 

“I wouldn't be surprised, but I suspect not this time...this feels more like we are being lured,” Bog ventured as he looked around. He frowned and drew out his blade. Marianne followed suit. 

“Be watchful,” Bog warned, his attention clearly on the hall. 

Walking side by side, they moved carefully aong dark hallway. The hall became increasingly colder the further into the castle they went. After another few minutes of walking along the same seemingly endless trail of grey stones, they came to a divide. The hall split in two directions, one going left, the other right. Bog frowned and looking both ways. Marianne watched him, also glancing down each direction, one looking exactly like the other. 

“How do we choose?” she asked with a slight crease between her brows. 

Bog narrowed his eyes then sighed in frustration with a smirk. “No bloody idea.” 

That was the moment they both heard the scream, a very human female scream. Bog and Marianne exchanged a look, then both of them seemed to come to the same conclusion, taking off at a run down the hall to the right. They ran for a full minute until the hall suddenly ended and opened into a large room. The floor of the room was littered with corpses in various stages of decay, a multi-candled iron chandelier hung from the shadowed ceiling above, the candles casting a weak yellow light that made the shadows dance in the corners of the room. 

In the middle of the room was Mary. She was naked and secured in what looked like an iron cage with her arms stretched out to her sides, the whole contraption suspended in the air. Sitting underneath her was the creature on a giant throne that looked to be made of old and yellowed bones. 

The monster on the throne was milky white, its body horribly misshapen. It's head was near the bottom of the throne, its arched and rippled hunchback was covered in oozing sores and the remains of what might have been wings, but were now only stalks, small and life-less. The limbs that sprouted from its distorted torso arched out from the body like the legs of a spider, ending in long skeletal fingers tipped with wicked looking claws. The head that followed their movements was too large for its body; the eyes were large and milky (Marianne wasn't sure if they were sightless, but the beast moved its head as if following the sounds of their entrance.) The ears were small and barely noticeable while its mouth was the size of a human's and filled with tiny needle-like teeth. A slimy clear liquid dripped from the creature's body, pooling beneath it and the throne. The smell that permeated the room was of rot and decay. 

It swung its bulbous head toward them and chittered out a laugh. “I see you survived my pets, wizard, and you brought your mate with you, how sweet.” Marianne shuddered; the beast's voice was rasping and gurgling, as if fluid were caught in its throat. 

Bog narrowed his eyes, taking a fighting stance with his sword in one hand and his free out out. Marianne could feel Bog gathering magic to him. 

Bog shot her a look, with his eyes motioning her to stand just slightly behind him and to the side. Marianne moved, holding her blade out. She pulled on her magic harder than she had ever tugged on it before. It hurt for a moment, as if she were yanking on a string that ran through the magic and to her heart. 

Bog, though weak and pale, snarled boldly and with confidence. “Give us the woman back and I might let you live creature.” 

“Oh hoho! Pretty words wizard. But I can see my pets did some damage to you. Why don't I just kill you and keep your pretty mate for myself...I could feed on her for years...years of torment, years of nightmares...” 

Bog hissed. “I won't let you lay a hand on her!” 

The creature laughed again then moved with a burst of speed that Marianne would not have thought possible. 

Bog yelled at her. “GET MARY!!” 

The creature rushed forward and slammed into Bog, the two of them sliding across the floor. Marianne heard Bog yell in pain. Marianne turned to see the creature had spit something thick and black that struck Bog in the chest, burning into his armor, smoke rising as he struggled with the monster, driving his sword into its shoulder while holding his hand to its face. She had a single heartbeat to see ice forming along the creature's features when it gave a hideous shriek. It reared back and slammed its bulbous head into Bog's just as he rolled to the side, the strike missing him. 

Marianne stood there for a split second as indecision threatened to freeze her in place. Save the woman they had come here for, or help Bog...


	13. Not Without You

Marianne made the decision that she knew Bog would want her to make, the one that hurt her...she went to get Mary, though it was the hardest thing she had ever done. Marianne took off at a run, her boots slamming hard against the cold stone floor as she ran to the center of the room where Mary was held suspended above the floor. She told herself not to look back at Bog, that he could fight; he was a powerful wizard. Marianne needed to simply focus on getting Mary out of the cage she was in and to wake her up before the creature could capture the poor woman again, trapping them all in this dream—no, this nightmare. Marianne halted and looked up. The cage swung above her, the woman inside unmoving, her head hanging down and her long hair hiding her face. Marianne couldn't even be certain if the woman was still alive from her vantage point, but she had to get up there to discover if she still lived. 

Marianne closed her eyes and thought of what she had been learning; she had read a levitation spell in one of Bog's books. It was a simple spell, though one she had never tried. She didn't even know if she could do it. The spells she cast so far were all over the place in terms of skill level and class. Some were the simplest of spells, easy enough that anyone with a little magic could do them, while others had been supposedly beyond her current skill level (at least according to Bog.) Attempting this spell...it quite possibly would fail. Taking a steadying breath, Marianne focused on the fact that she HAD to get up to Mary, one way or another, and this was not a time for her to doubt herself. 

Marianne closed her eyes, she could hear the fight behind her. She heard Bog shout something, but she couldn't make out what it was over the sounds the creature made. She made the mistake of turning around to look behind her. The creature had raised itself up, holding Bog up off the floor, his sword stuck in the creature's shoulder, out of his reach, while the monsters milk white claws held Bog by his throat. Bog held his hands out in front of him, making gestures. She could see he was trying to do a spell, but her eyes were drawn immediately to his chest, where the monster had vomited on him. The armor and clothing that covered his chest was gone leaving behind skin that was burned, raw and bloody. Bog's hand twisted in a gesture she couldn't quite see, his hands moving swiftly, followed by a blast of magical energy that hit the monster in its face. She didn't see what the spell did, only that the monster slammed Bog to the floor followed by the echoing sound of breaking stone. She heard Bog cry out in pain... 

His cry ripped through her. She almost went to him...almost. She knew that she had to do what Bog had asked of her, she had to save Mary or else all of this would have been for nothing. 

Marianne swallowed, her throat dry. She could feel herself shaking as she closed her eyes and searched her mind for that random spell she had read...seeing the book, how it looked in her hands, opening the door, seeing the pages, and focusing on the words and symbols of the spell as it lay on the printed page. She could hear the fight behind her, the smell of burning flesh...the scream of the monster...the roar of defiance from Bog all trying to pull her attention away from the task at hand. Marianne kept her eyes closed. She could see the spell just as clear as if she held the book in her hands. Marianne murmured the words, her hands moving through the flow of the gestures. She murmured them again, and again until she felt the magic grab hold of her, felt it wrap around her. There was an odd tingling across her skin as if her body had fallen asleep and was just now waking up. Then her feet lifted off the ground. 

Marianne yelped in surprise, her eyes flying open as she began to levitate, floating up toward Mary and the cage that held her. Marianne grabbed hold of the cage using the iron that held Mary in place as hand holds to bring herself up to Mary's face. 

Marianne reached through the bars to lift Mary's face. “Mary?” 

The woman's brown hair framed her face, the color looking dull and faded; her eyes were open, but they looked to have a film over them. They were white yet Marianne could see her irises behind the white, moving rapidly back and forth. Marianne took a deep breath...now to wake her. 

* 

Bog groaned in pain, the air was knocked from him and he was sure the impact with the floor had broken a rib. For a moment he thought to himself that if this hurt now, it was going to hurt worse when he woke up, which annoyed him, but he didn't dwell on it. This creature was far stronger than he had imagined which made him fear what he and Marianne would face in the village when they arrived. Would it be something beyond his skills? Would he get Marianne killed? Bog had to force himself not to dwell on those questions, because right now he didn't have time for. He had to protect Marianne...Marianne and Mary. He had to buy Marianne the time she needed to get Mary out of here. 

Bog rolled to the side, and spun up on his feet in a swift movement before he twisted around on the ball of one foot and threw his hands forward, extending his arms, the tips of his fingers touching, then he rolled his hands back, the balls of his palms together, opening them to blast a cone-shaped wave of fridged air and ice at the monster. The ice formed into a whirlwind that extended from Bog's hands as if he had released a tiny storm; the blast slammed into the creature's chest with a loud crack. 

The ice formed and spread quickly, thick, blue colored ice so cold that it chilled the air around them, but the monster only laughed. 

“Pitiful wizard!!” Its voice was deep and scratchy, and though not particularly loud, it pierced the ears painfully. “You really think any of your magic will work on me? This is my realm! And you are nothing!” The monster moved forward, and its claws clicked against the stone, its swift movements like an attacking spider. It surged forward, slamming its bulbous head into Bog, at the same time opening its mouth and snapped its head up to sink its teeth into Bog's shoulder. 

Bog hissed, but with the creature this close Bog was able to slam his open palm against its eye. 

Bog snarled with a grin despite the pain in his shoulder. “Really? Then let's see how this spell works!” 

Black tentacles, thick and shining with Bog's blood, burst form from Bog's palm in thick twisting waves. The tentacles whipped out to dig into the creature's eye and burrow into the surrounding flesh. The tentacles, spiked with wicked looking thorns, sank into the nightmare monster's milky white flesh as if questing for something. Bog was rewarded with the creature's scream. The tentacles dug deeper and wrapped around its eyeball. There was a moment of nothing, then out popped of the eyeball, exploding with a loud crack like a walnut being broken. 

Bog jerked back at the same time the monster skittered away from him, its teeth ripping through his shoulder just as a white jelly-like substance and other viscous fluid leaked down the monsters face. Bog grinned viciously as the monster wailed. It hissed and spit more of the vicious black bile at Bog, but he threw out his arms in a wide gesture, as suddenly a wall of fire burst upward from the stone floor. Pillars of red and blue fire leapt into the air slamming against the ceiling between Bog and the creature boiling away the black liquid and burning away the cold of Bog's last spell. 

“You think your puny magic can keep me from ripping your heart out wizard?!” The monster swayed back and forth glaring with its one eye at Bog through the flames between them. 

Bog held a hand up to his savaged shoulder, but he smiled. “You can try.” 

* 

Marianne was panicking. She couldn't find a lock or any sort of release to the cage that held Mary. It was as if the contraption was one solid construct that had been built around May. After a few seconds of panic Marianne realized that the best thing she could do would be to simply wake the other woman up. Waking her up should release her from the spell. 

But that hadn't worked either! 

She had tried everything she could think of to wake Mary. She had slapped the other woman across the face, shook the cage, pulled her hair, yelled at her...none of it had worked. Clearly she was under a deep spell or trance, but Marianne wasn't sure how to break it. On top of that, she could feel the levitation spell weakening; she had lowered just a little, but the longer she took, the lower she would fall as the spell gave out. And while she was hanging here in the air doing nothing, Bog was locked in a battle with that monster and she wasn't helping him!! She could feel tears of frustration beginning to fall down her cheeks. She wiped angrily at them muttering to herself. 

“Come on Marianne, come on...you can do this...you can do this!” 

Marianne rushed through her memories of the books she had read in the tower, the spells she had read, the magic she knew, even the stories from her childhood of wizards or princes waking sleeping princesses, searching for a spell or a clue that would release Mary. But she couldn't think of anything and foolish things like true love's kiss wouldn't work when Mary's true love was in the real world and they were stuck in this awful hellscape! In desperation, Marianne grabbed the woman by her shoulders and hissed. “Please wake up!” 

It was as if something inside Marianne burst open. She felt a surge through her, a tingling that seemed to start at the pit of her stomach. It tickled and then, a rush of excitement, she could think of no other way to describe it except that the sensation made her want to leap with joy! It rushed through her body, coiled through her stomach as it raced up through her chest where it exploded again before the sensation ran down her arms to her hands where they touched Mary's shoulders. 

Then Marianne's hands began to glow a soft white, the light of which sank into Mary's skin. The woman's head snapped up and Marianne watched in surprise as the white film over her eyes seemed to melt away. Mary blinked several times, then stared at Marianne. “Who...who are you?” 

Marianne smiled and whispered. “Wake up.” 

Mary looked at her in confusion before her eyes slid close and just like that, Mary's body faded away. Marianne threw a fist up in triumph. “YES!!” 

But then her levitation spell decided to fade and Marianne yelped as she plunged down to the stone floor below. 

* 

The monster reared back its bulbous head and spewed forth what looked like an unending flood of caustic, smoking black fluid. The liquid splashed into Bog's wall of fire, hissing and bubbling, weakening the magic. Just as the wall of fire dissipated, the creature whipped its head around toward where Marianne and Mary were in the center of the room and let out a horrible, liquid roar of rage at the moment that Marianne broke it's spell over Mary. Vile fluid flew outward from between its sharp teeth as it shouted at her. “NO!” 

Bog turned to see that Mary was gone from the cage. For just a moment, Marianne had turned toward him, floating there like an angel. He had never seen anything more beautiful than Marianne floating there, the magic making her clothing whip slowly around her, a wave of magic moved over her hair and illuminated her skin. Bog smiled with pride at her. She was amazing, he thought. But at the same time he saw Marianne's spell break and she fell. 

“MARIANNE!” Bog shouted her name moving toward her before her name had fully left his mouth. 

Bog broke out into a run, his booted feet slamming hard against the stone ground as he ran toward her; he didn't get far before the monster threw itself at him, catching his ankle. Bog's feet went out from under him and he slammed down to the stone floor. His jaw hit and scraped against the cold rocks, while his teeth slammed together painfully. Bog tasted blood in his mouth. 

The monster bowled over Bog on its way toward Marianne, its large, milky white deformed body moving with surprising and disturbing speed as it weaved and wobbled toward her. Bog saw Marianne hit the floor, his heart leaping into his throat as he surged to his feet and yelled. “MARIANNE WAKE UP!!” 

* 

Marianne hit the floor hard knocking the air from her and dazing her for a moment. She laid there for a heartbeat before she started to move again. She groaned and rolled to her side, pushing herself up on her hands in time to see the monster coming for her, its head weaving back and froth, its mouth open and vile fluid dripping and burning into the stone as it rushed toward her. She scrambled to her feet and threw out her hands with a screamed, “NO!” 

Fire erupted, but not into any lovely flowers she had achieved that time with Bog. This time her fire spell was one long bolt, like something released from a crossbow, but this was larger, leaping from her hands and streaking across the distance like something spewed from the mouth of a volcano. It shot from her hands in a deadly streak burning bright and hot. The fire bolt she summoned slammed into the monster, exploding against its chest to burn into its skin and force it backward. The creature reared back and fell over with the impact. The stench of rotting, burning flesh rose up from it as the creature's twisted limbs fought with the air. 

The burning beast let out a horrible, gurgling scream, but it wasn't dead, not yet. It rolled itself upright, the fire driving it mad with agony. It let out another roar that made Marianne's knees feel as if they might give out on her. 

Marianne saw Bog, hurt, burned and bleeding rushing toward her, his hand out to her. 

He stopped and yelled at her. “WAKE UP!” 

“NO! I'm not leaving you here!” Marianne shouted. 

Bog caught her gaze with his intense eyes. There was so much pain in his blue eyes, pain and something else, but it broke her heart. Bog smiled. “You have to.” She frowned as Bog started to cast, his arms and hands moving in gestures so fast that she couldn't tell what he was doing, but she knew he was going to try to wake her, try to get her out of here. 

“BOG NO!” Marianne moved closer to him as the monster regained its feet, leaking white and black fluid in thick oozing puddles around its feet. It growled in a phlegm-ridden voice. 

“I will eat your dreams little wizard!! I will devour your soul! Over and over forever!” 

It lurched toward Marianne. She turned, threw her hands out toward it and blue fire erupted from her with no form at all, just a flood of hot flames that swarmed from her and hit the creature, wrapping its body in a blue haze at the same time that Bog's spell slammed into Marianne. She felt the impact of the magic against her body. The magic carried her off her feet and into the air. She twisted around just in time to see Bog standing below her. The fire around the monster still burned a bright blue, but now the creature was rushing toward Bog and yelling incoherently. She could see the scene below, as if time had slowed down. Time slowed to a crawl to show her exactly how Bog was going to die so that she wouldn't forget it, ever. Within seconds, the vile creature was going to overrun the wizard, enveloping him in the flames that were killing it, taking him with it into death. She struggled, but realized too late she was surrounded in a protective shell by Bog's magic. He had effectively trapped her, while at the same time sending her back, which meant that she couldn't help him. 

Bog looked up at her and smiled. He kissed two of his fingers blowing her a kiss. 

“BOG!!” Marianne screamed and slammed her fists against his spell, but that was when the monster slammed into Bog, both of them disappearing in a flare of blue fire, then the shield around her popped. 

* 

Marianne woke up with a gasp sitting up looking around her in confusion and screamed. “BOG!” 

Duncan grabbed Marianne helping her to sit up. “Oh thank the spirits you're back!” 

Marianne was gasping for breath and lookedg around frantically as if she couldn't quite grasp where she was at this very moment. “Where am I? Where's Bog?!” 

“You're back at the inn miss—you saved my wife.” Duncan pointed at the bed where his wife Mary sat up looking tired and pale, but whole and alive. Marianne's eyes fell on Bog who lay beside her. Her heart nearly stopped when she looked at him. Someone had opened the upper part of his robes and she could see where they had tried to put a healing salve on his chest. She could see the other numerous wounds that had appeared, all wounds he had received in the dream, including burns that were appearing on his skin as she looked at him. But the worst was that he was so pale that his skin looked nearly transparent. He was breathing, his mouth slightly open, but it was too shallow, too faint. She grabbed his hand that lay beside her and he felt cold, so cold that she would have thought him dead if not for the small breaths she could still detect. 

Marianne's lip trembled. “Bog...don't you dare, you ass!!! Don't you kiss me and then leave me behind!! I won't forgive you if you leave me!! I won't!! You...you...you BOBOLYNE!!” 

Marianne grabbed Bog by his shoulders and shook him. “GET UP!! Sard it Bog, please!! Wake up!!” 

He didn't respond, his body limp, his head rolling to the side with her violent outburst; while she was shaking him she saw a cut open along his cheek. 

Marianne touched his cheek with a shaking hand, her fingers coming back bloody. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Bog...if you don't come back to me I swear I will hate you forever!” 

* 

The monster's white skin had bubbled and blistered from Marianne's spell, but it laughed with a hideous liquid sound. It had knocked Bog to the ground, held him down with a large, powerful claw and leered over him in triumph. “Oh, now your little mage is gone, it's just you and me wizard. I'm going to rip your guts from you and eat you alive over and over again!” 

Bog smiled. “Maybe, but I am going to take you into death with me, you vile dalcop.” 

Bog did a spell he had told himself he would never do. It was a spell he had known for a long time, but had never used. He shoved his hands up through the damaged flesh of the monster, ripping through its rip cage with unnatural strength and wrapped his hands around its heart. The monster jerked in surprise staring down at him with one eye, the other eye socket a liquid and bloody mess. Bog smiled focusing all his hate, all the darkness that he knew he carried with him into a spell, a spell that was fueled by only hatred. The magic leapt to his call, darkness was his to manipulate. Spells of wickedness had always been the easiest for Bog, though he was loathe to admit it to anyone, even himself. It was part of the reason he cut himself off from people...why would he want anyone to know that there was something dark and evil that dwelled inside him? 

He smiled as the magic obeyed him and wrapped itself around the beast's heart, and stopped it. Bog felt the heartbeat slower and slower in his hands. Bog chuckled as the monster looked at him in genuine surprise. 

The heart beat its last and the monster collapsed on top of Bog, but Bog didn't just let that be the end. He wanted to make sure, so with all his magically enhanced strength, Bog crushed the heart in his hands. 

Bog shivered and released the now mangled remains of the heart. He took a few minutes to breathe before he pushed the creature off of him, but he didn't move—he just laid there. It would be so much easier to let himself go...to give up. He had promised himself years ago he would never do that sort of magic again...not...not even on something so monstrous...and he had faltered. Whatever black marks were on his soul that he had banished over the years, had returned now with a vengeance. He closed his eyes giving in to the pain of his numerous wounds, letting them begin to drag him down when he heard her voice. Marianne. 

She was crying and she was cursing at him. Bog lay there with his eyes closed listening to her voice, as if drifting to him from a great distance and thinking that her voice being the last thing he heard would be a nice way to go when something jolted through his body. Bog sat up with a gasp of pain. 

“What on...” He muttered when it happened again. It was as if a bolt of lightning was being thrown at his heart. Bog gasped, his vision starting to fade when he heard Marianne's voice again. “You get back here right now!! You hear me Bog! Right now!” 

The bolt hit him again. Bog's body convulsed and collapsed. 

* 

Bog sat up with a loud painful gasp, grabbing his chest, followed by yelling loudly. “The Sarding Devil's CUNT that hurt!!” 

Marianne burst out into a laughing sob and threw her arms around him. “BOG!!” 

Bog groaned sinking back down to the floor. Marianne, her arms in a death grip around him, her head against his chest followed him down to the floor unwilling to let go. 

She was sobbing. “You sarding fool!! You sarding sarding fool!!” she kept muttering. 

Duncan grinned at his wife over the tops of the wizards heads. 

* 

Bog woke with a soft groan. At first he was confused about where he was; he slowly and painfully pushed himself up only to realize he was in the bed, in their room at the inn where Marianne and he were staying. It was dark in the room; the sole window provided a little light, the moon's glow casting everything in a soft blue glow. He had been stripped down to nothing and all his wounds were covered in clean bandages. He swallowed, his mouth dry. Then he noticed a body next to him. He lifted the sheet to see Marianne, naked, her own wounds bandaged, lying on her stomach, her face turned away from him. Bog went very still. The moon's weak light spilled in through the window to dance across her pale skin. 

He held the sheet up staring at her. She was so beautiful. Despite his wounds, what they had been through, his body reacted to seeing her lying on her stomach naked next to him. The soft curve of her back, the creamy roundness of her hips. He wanted to touch her, but he wouldn't dare. He started to lower the sheet when Marianne shifted her head around to smile at him, her cheek resting on her folded hands. “How are you feeling?” 

Bog yelped dropping the sheet which did little to hide his erection, so he grabbed the pillow behind him and flopped it on his lap. “I'm...I'm fine.” 

Marianne smiled to herself. His dark hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and he still looked pale and thinner somehow. He was covered in bandages, but he was alive and judging by his body's reaction to her, he was on his way to a full recovery. 

Marianne frowned and slowly sat up. “I should kill you for what you did.” 

“What?” Bog frowned looking at her confused. 

“Trying leave me like that. What were you thinking?” Marianne pulled the sheet up to hide her breasts, but not before Bog had seen them. She saw his eyes flicker toward her chest then quickly away, his cheeks turning an almost feverish red. She had to suppress her smile so she could glare at him. “Trying to die on me! Humfp.” She crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I...I didn't...” Bog seemed at a loss as to what to say. 

Marianne leaned over and grasped his face between her hands, dropping the sheet. She stared into his blue eyes and whispered. “I forgive you.” Then she kissed him. At first Bog was stiff, but soon he melted into her kiss, becoming weak at the touch of her lips, the warmth of her, the sweet scent of her skin. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into her and pull her body against his own. 

Marianne shifted onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. Her tongue coiled with his, twisting and twirling slowly, sensually. He made a soft breathy moan and reached out for her, his hands settling on her hips, feeling the delightful silken softness of her skin, but then Marianne shifted to straddle his lap, knocking the pillow to the floor. She pressed herself against him, only the sheet between them. She could feel the erotic heat of his hard erection between her legs, and the sensation caused her whole body to ache with want. Kissing him more heatedly, Marianne surprised herself by grinding her pelvis against him. Bog let out a long, low groan as his hands dropped lower on her hips to pull her against him as his body responded with thrusts up in sync with her movements. With a heavy breath, he pushed her away. 

“Marianne, I...” Bog's cheeks were red all the way to the tip of his ears. 

Marianne put her finger to his lips. “Shh...Bog.” She looked at him with a glimmer in her eyes. “Do you want me?” 

Bog swallowed and nodded, his eyes wide. “ But you...you don't want...” 

She smiled. “I want you.” 

Bog frowned. “But...Marianne...I'm not a good man. I'm not.” 

Marianne narrowed her eyes at him. “We just went through something horrific together. I almost lost you. I had to bring you back to me!! You fought for a poor woman, almost sacrificed yourself to save her and me! And here you are trying to say you're not a good man?” Marianne sighed leaning her forehead against his, staring into his blue eyes. She could become lost there she realized, just staring into those haunted beautiful depths. 

“Bog, I almost lost you. I will not waste any more time on whether or not you are good for me or if I'm good for you. All I know is that I love you and I want to be with you even though you are the most grumpy, pig-headed, foul-tempered wizard...or person I have ever meant. I want to be with you before the chance is taken from me. I want to live and I want to do it with you.” She smiled caressing his jaw. “Please Bog, live with me.” 

He stared at her, words lost to him. Instead of answering her, he pulled her into a passionate kiss, running his long fingers down her spine in soft, sweet caresses. Marianne groaned, returning the kiss. Bog moaned softly. He wanted this, wanted her badly. He wanted to live instead of hiding from the world in his tower—he wanted some happiness. She was right, he realized. That chance had almost been taken away, why waste any more of his time? 

Bog's hands snaked up her sides to her breasts, slowly, tenderly cupping them in his hands while at the same time catching her bottom lip and sucking gently. Marianne arched her back, moaning. His hands were slightly rough, she could feel the callouses on his hands from the sword work he did. The slight roughness was exhilarating. He squeezed her breasts gently, then slid his hands up over her collar to caress her neck and shoulders before he slid them down again to cup her breasts, continuing to kiss her. 

Marianne ground against him, the sheet still between them. She felt so desperately wanton. Every part of her ached to feel him, to feel his hands on her, his mouth, his tongue. She had never felt like this...not that she hadn't daydreamed about sex...but this...this was something far more vivid and fulfilling. 

Bog growled softly and suddenly flipped her onto her back, causing the bed to bounce a little. Marianne quickly pulled the sheet away, which made Bog stop momentarily to sit back on his knees and stare at her. “You are so beautiful Marianne.” He smiled shyly. 

Marianne blushed dragging her teeth across her bottom lip, her brown eyes slowly taking in every naked inch of him. “You are handsome Bog...” She put her hand out to him. He took her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers one by one, then gently made his way down her arm, pressing his lips to her skin sweetly. When he was at her shoulder, his lips moved down over her chest. She was breathing in shuddering pants, waiting for his lips to caress over her breasts. When Bog kissed her nipple, Marianne groaned. “Bog...oh Bog...” 

Encouraged by her reaction, he cozied up against her side pressing his mouth more firmly to her breast, twisting his tongue slowly around her nipple before sucking tenderly. 

Marianne had wrapped her arm around his shoulders when he curled against her side, her fingers in his hair, which now tightened when he sucked on her nipple. He reached out with his free hand and cupped her opposite breast, squeezing softly, then slid his finger and thumb up to catch her nipple between them. Bog very gently twisted her nipple while sucking tenderly on the other. Marianne moaned loudly rubbing her legs together. “Oh Bog...” 

He continued to gently suck on her breast, flicking his tongue over the surface of her nipple while his hand twisted the other or ran the very tip of his finger across the sensitive nipple's surface. The tickle in her groin built and built until she thought she might die if he didn't do something to relieve her tension! Just feeling his hard erection against her hip, hot and smooth, her body convulsed at the thought of him shoving into her. Her groin ached to the point of madness and all she could think of was the need for him to touch her. It seemed an eternity of focus on her breasts until she was groaning loudly. “Bog...oh Bog, touch me please...touch me down there...” 

Bog was nervous. He wanted nothing more than to slide his fingers between her legs. But this was uncharted territory for him. Of course, she was telling him to do this, but...He stopped sucking on her beautiful breast to look at her face. She opened her lust heavy eyes and smiled at him. “Please Bog...” 

He nodded. “Yes Marianne.” He slowly dragged his hand down her stomach, his fingers finding the hair at her groin. He caressed the hair there as Marianne opened her legs for him. He kissed her mouth gently before sliding his tongue between her lips at the same moment his fingers slid down between her legs. 

Marianne felt an orgasm rising almost immediately when he touched her. She arched into his hand, her cries muffled against his lips. Her fingers in his hair tightened almost painfully, but Bog was grinning from ear to ear. He was slow and tender, his fingers moved over her more confidently, more eagerly, feeling the slick warm wetness of her on his fingers. He slid deeper until he found her entrance. Bog caught her lips with his teeth tugging softly before he asked. “Do you want me to?” 

He dipped his finger just a little, communicating what he was thinking. Marianne nodded. “Yes Bog, please.” 

Bog dipped his long middle finger inside her and Marianne arched her back crying out as an orgasm rolled over her again with a loud cry of, “BOG!” 

He smiled going back to playing his tongue over her nipples thrusting his finger in and out of her, smiling at how wet she was, completely forgetting his reluctance. All he wanted was her. He was so focused on her that he didn't really notice when she moved her arm out from under him, sliding her limb between them until her fingers wrapped around his shaft. 

Marianne grinned with pleasure at the way Bog jumped when she touched him. She wrapped her small hand around him, sliding her hand up and down very slowly. The skin of his shaft was satin soft which she wasn't expecting...She really didn't know what she was expecting, but she enjoyed how he felt, soft, hard and warm all mixed together, plus the delightful moans he made gave her additional goosebumps. 

Bog moaned. “Marianne...I...if you keep...I'm sorry...” 

Marianne rolled her thumb over the head of his shaft feeling the sticky dampness there. Bog hissed with the pleasure of her touch. “Marianne I love you,” he moaned. 

Marianne swallowed and kissed him. “Bog, make love to me.” 

He smiled rubbing his nose against hers. “Always and forever as long as you will have me.” 

Marianne smiled. “Always and forever. I will always have you.” 

(They both felt it, though they were too lust rattled to really understand that the vow they had just whispered was binding by the magic they both possessed...) 

He crawled on top of her, resting on his elbows. He was careful not to enter her yet; she could feel him teasing her opening. He gazed down at her, caressing her face and hair with the very tip of his fingers. “I don't deserve someone like you in my life,” Bog whispered. “I'm...I really am not a good man Marianne. You deserve a good man. A real prince. Not a broken old wizard.” 

Marianne reached up to trace his cheek and jaw. “You are everything I want. You are real Bog. Real and precious and good. I love you.” She grinned. “The heart wants what the heart wants and I want you.” 

Bog rubbed his nose against hers gently. “My heart wants you Marianne. My princess.” 

Marianne giggled. “You said you would never call me princess.” 

“I lied.” Bog kissed her hard and Marianne wrapped her arms around his neck with a slight giggle. Bog shifted as Marianne lifted her legs up and back. She moaned softly when he thrust into her, penetrating her body with his own. His body filled hers, stretched her, making her his own. Bog pressed up and down into her, burying himself deeply. Marianne grabbed his shoulders. “Ahh...Bog...” the feel of his body moving against her, in her, the smell of his skin all combined to fuel her lust and love for him. She wrapped her arms tight around him and smelled his skin. “Bog...oh Bog...” 

Bog shuddered, dropping his forehead to press to hers when she looked up at him. He moaned. “I...I won't last long..Marianne, uh...you feel too good. We...we fit together...so...so good...I'm...I'm sorry.” 

Marianne laughed. “Oh Bog...” 

She thrust her hips up to encourage him and he started to thrust with more urgency, penetrating deep into her, leaning on his elbows, his fingers in her hair, while his mouth stayed glued to hers, his tongue dancing slowly with her own as they thrust together faster, and faster until Marianne was digging her fingers into his back. At the moment she had no awareness of his wounds, she just needed him to move faster, harder. She was going to orgasm, the sensation rippled through her groin and up into the pit of her stomach where the sensation exploded and spread through her like fire. She held on to Bog's shoulders and arched her back, crying out. “BOG!” 

Bog slammed into her, he just coudn't seem to help it, but when she climaxed, he was lost. Bog panted into her mouth. “Marianne...Marianne...Oh sard it...uh...” He came with a jerk as if she were pulling something vital from him. He kissed her, riding out the last of his orgasm with her lips on his mouth. 

* 

Much later they lay in the small bed, wrapped in each others arms. Bog had pulled the blankets up as their bodies cooled from their love-making. Marianne snuggled against his chest feeling safe with Bog's arms around her, safe and sleepy. He tenderly stroked her hair humming softly, occasionally singing gently. “If you only knew how much I love you...” 

Marianne smiled. “I love your singing voice.” 

Bog chuckled. “Deaf in one ear, eh?” 

Marianne smacked him on the chest. “Stop.” 

He kissed the top of her head, but continued to hum softly. After a few minutes of listening and her eyes growing heavy, Marianne whispered. 

“Bog, what are we going to do? That thing we fought, you said rode in with the big one, but we barely handled this one together.” Marianne snuggled closer, holding him tightly. 

Bog frowned as he rubbed his fingers down her upper arm. “I think we should make a detour. I think we need to pick up some spells from someone I know, an expert at making prepared spells and enchanted items.” 

“Prepared spells?” Marianne asked looking up at him. 

Bog smiled. “It's like picking up food that was cooked by someone else. Except you don't have to worry about whether or not you know the spell; it's all ready for you. She puts spells in rings, staves, any object you want, all you have do is release it. It saves a wizard in a fight from overusing his magic or gives him access to magic he wouldn't usually have, but it costs a great deal.” 

She nodded, closing her eyes. After a couple of minutes Marianne sleepily whispered. “Promise me...no more heroics trying to get yourself killed, alright? 

Marianne pressed her head against his chest. Bog could feel her slipping away into sleep before he could say anything in response. He frowned, tightening his grip on her. He hated to admit it, but he was scared about what lay ahead.


	14. Solutio

Roland was standing outside watching the grey clouds race across the sky as if they were being chased. He pulled the old, worn woolen cloak tighter around his shoulders against the chill that was settling in. Griselda was correct, he could smell the snow in the air...the cold. He shivered despite the warm clothing he wore, which was a mix of grey and black; the clothing was nothing fancy, more of the left overs of the damn wizard, but they were well-made and—more importantly, he had to admit—warm, even if they did smell mostly like wood smoke. 

His head was uncovered, a short bristle of blond hair having started to grow back after Griselda had given him some sort of foul smelling cream to rub on his head. At first he hadn't believed her, certain that the foul cream would do nothing for him, but one night...he decided to try it, using it at night before he went to sleep. He had found out that it wasn't magic at all, just some salve that the old woman had made. But his hair had started to grow back and the burn scars had begun to heal. Having his hair return made him feel a little more...like himself, though he never said thank you. Griselda had given him narrowed eyed looks when she saw his hair returning, but she never said a word. 

The chill seeped deep into his bones as he watched the skies and he frowned. If he was smart, now would be the time to leave before another storm hit, but still he didn't move. He had been telling himself for days that he should leave for this reason or that, but he told himself he was staying in order to get Marianne and return with her as his wife...but deep down Roland knew that wasn't really the reason at all. In fact, he wasn't sure anymore of the the reason he was staying... 

He was still standing outside watching the clouds when Lily came walking across the courtyard from the barn where she had been helping with milking. Griselda's had purchased some milking cows yesterday. Horrible smelly things, Roland concluded for the dozenth time...and Lily had offered to care for them and milk them each morning. Roland frowned as he watched her make her way across the yard, her feet getting stuck in places where the ground was soggy. She wore a white linen shift under a woolen, sleeveless tunic of blue, two simple brooches holding the long tunic in place at her shoulders. Two chains crossed from brooch to brooch from where she had hung some household keys and her long hair was braided loosely down her back. She looked lovely despite the mud on the hem of her dress and shoes. She even had a light streak of mud across one cheek that made Roland's fingers itch to wipe away. Instead, he sighed with a long, annoyed groan and walked across to her only to grab one of the buckets of milk from her 

“Give me that,” he snapped. 

Lily scowled at him, yanking the bucket back from his grasping hand. “Why don't you leave?” 

Roland didn't say anything, he just stomped beside her to grab at the bucket again. “Does it only rain here?” 

Lily shrugged as she tugged the bucket back again. “During the rainy season...yes.” 

“BLAST IT woman!! Just give me the bucket of sarding milk!” Roland hissed. 

Lily glared at him, but let go. Roland stuck his nose in the air marching back into the tower. Lily smirked at his back as she quickly followed behind him, resisting the urge to lob a handful of mud at the back of his head. 

* 

Griselda was in the kitchen working on making cheese. She had her unruly hair up on top of her head, tied in place with a piece of beige cloth, yet large frizzy curls had escaped to fall around her face as she stirred the cauldron of milk over the fire, occasionally throwing something white into the mixture from a bowl she had sitting on the table. Roland set the milk down and Griselda smiled. “Oh good, pour it into the cauldron please.” 

Roland made a face. “I didn't know cheese making was so...messy.” 

Griselda rolled her eyes toward him. “Roland, most things are messy, you just never see what goes on behind the scenes of your life. Nor do you think of the people who do all the work.” 

Roland frowned and said nothing as he slowly poured his bucket of milk into the cauldron. He stepped out of the way when Lily came to pour her milk into the cauldron too. “Is there anything else I can do Griselda?” 

The older woman glanced up from her stirring. “Would you mind...there are a five large salmon that Thang brought in this morning? He and Stuff, his wife, will be dining with us tonight. I thought to fry the fish and then bake them into crusts for dinner, but they need to be boned and cut. Oh and there are some lemons to be cut to use on the fish. Perhaps Roland could help with that. Oh,” she added, “and I thought to serve some hippocras tonight, so if you could find the red wine, the sugar and cinnamon, ginger and some cloves should be in jars in the cabinet. If you could mix that up dear, that would be a great help. I thought it might be nice for Stuff since she just found out she is expecting her first little one and her stomach becomes upset easily at this stage.” 

Griselda grinned mischievously as she watched the two young people, their faces turn sour at the thought of working together. She shook her head and focused her attention on her stirring. 

Lily sighed glaring at Roland. “Come over here,” she ordered. 

Roland thought about snapping at her about daring to order him around, but he stopped himself...barely. He wasn't fond of the idea of chopping lemons but it was better than doing nothing. He had never thought he would become bored...back home there was always something to do, games to play, woman to seduce...his father to impress...but here, life was much slower it seemed, though just as busy...just...different he guessed, but what bothered him was how life seemed to go along without his input here. It made Roland feel...unneeded. 

He followed Lily over to the end of the large wooden table where a large, bundled up net lay and inside it held five very large salmon. Roland frowned glancing over to the fireplace where Griselda was working. 

“Can't you get into trouble for fishing in the king's river? I mean...isn't that considered poaching?” Roland asked with genuine curiosity and perhaps a little concern...which he quickly dismissed. He was not the least bit concerned about what happened to the old witch, he told himself. Griselda was annoying and—he assured himself he didn't care—it was just idle curiosity. He had seen and heard the stories of peasants who went into the king's wood to hunt or to fish in the king's lakes or rivers...and it never ended well. 

Griselda glanced up from her stirring. “We have an understanding with the king...he leaves us be and Bog doesn't turn him into something nasty and unattractive or decide to blow his castle off the face of the earth.” The old woman smiled. “It works out well for everyone.” 

Roland paled. “Can he do that?” 

Roland wondered if even half of what Griselda told him was true or not...though he had to admit he was not in a hurry to learn the truth. Bog was...scary. 

Griselda stood up and turned to fully face Roland. “Roland, why do you care? You are going to eat well tonight.” 

“I am...you mean...I'm invited?” The young man looked genuinely shocked, and funny, Griselda thought, she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The fool was blind to his own feelings, wanting friends and acceptance. She sighed softly. “Of course...but if you don't help Lily get those fish ready and the wine, no one will be eating tonight.” Roland tried not to smile as he turned to Lily and asked in a voice that bordered on actually being polite. “So what do I do?” 

Lily smiled at him. “Just watch me.” 

* 

Bog was dreaming. Part of him knew that; he could tell this was a dream and not a demon-possessed dream either, just a dream from his own mind. But the dream was strong and held him in its grasp...his own mind keeping him from waking. He was standing outside his tower, the wind whipped around him stirring his hair and clothing. He was dressed in black, nothing unusual...but the black robes clung to him like a child. He could feel it, the magic woven into the fabric...and there was something on...no...something in the material, words written in silver in a language he knew...a forbidden tongue....darkness...a language he had spoken once without hesitation. Those words stirred the darkness that dwelled in his soul...the part of him he had tried to trap away, to hide from himself, but there was a crack in the cage where he had trapped that part of himself; he felt it, the tendrils of shadow reaching out to him and that voice...seductive, cool...feminine. It called to him, trying to pull him back. 

“Come back Bog...you know the darkness was always for you...you never belonged in the light...never...unloved, unwanted...return to the embrace. Here you are safe...protected...” 

Bog wrapped his arms around himself as a tremor started, welling from deep within as if the tremor was coming from his soul and slowly spreading out from the core of him. That fear of failure...his fear of falling back to the path of darkness he had been on...a path he had worked many years to leave with the help of his mother. He feared that his weakness would pull Marianne with him. No, he vowed, not Marianne. Finally someone had come into his lonely life, someone loved him, scars and all...she loved him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tempting voice, that feeling of power and longing that was all too familiar even after all these years. 

No, he whispered out loud. No. You won't have me and you won't have her. 

The cool voice responded. “Are you sure Bog? You are weak without the darkness...weak...” 

* 

Bog woke with a start, gasping for breath, his eyes blinking rapidly to sweep away the dream. 

Marianne rose up on her elbow sleepily, her hair sticking out making her look slightly like an adorable porcupine, Bog mused. She shifted and the sheet fell away. She was still naked, and the early morning sunlight peaking through the window made her skin shine. “Bog? Are you all right?” 

He closed his eyes and lay back down, struggling to get his trembling under control. “Yes. Yes I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you.” 

Marianne smiled blurry-eyed at him, then surprised him when she giggled and slid under the thin sheets, her voice drifting up from under the linen. “That's all right Bog. I don't mind being awake.” 

Bog pushed up on his elbows, the last tendrils of the dream fading as he felt Marianne's hands on his legs, scooting until she was laying between them. He looked down only able to see the movement of her head under the sheet. “Marianne what are you..?” 

Bog dropped his head back with a groan when he felt the warm wet touch of her tongue against his shaft. 

“Uhh...Marianne wha-what are you doing?” He struggled to speak when he felt warm, soft lips wrap around his quickly hardening shaft. 

Marianne's giggle was warm against his skin, her tongue wet and soft as she nuzzled lower and licked, her tongue tracing the soft flesh of his scrotum and worked her way up, along his length, her hand holding him gently, but firmly. When she reached the head of his erection her lips wrapped around him once more. 

Bog moaned reaching over his head to grab at the cloth of the flat pillow. “Aahh...Sarding HELL!” 

His hips jerked in response which had Marianne smiling. She didn't know what had come over her except she had lost her virginity to this man and she fully intended to try everything she had ever heard, or read about—on him...and this...this had plagued her dreams last night. Luckily she thought, reality was far more fulfilling than her dreams had been. 

She continued her sucking and licking, her lips soft yet firm as she explored Bog in depth. One of Bog's legs jerked faintly when she lowered her mouth down on him. She performed a particularly slow pull of her lips, sucking up his length, a twirl of her tongue along the sensitive flesh on the underside of his erection. The physical reaction was accompanied by a low moan of pleasure. 

Marianne smiled enjoying herself. The whole thing was amazingly powerful...almost like using her magic on him. But she also loved the soft groans of pleasure that escaped his lips, the way his body responded to her, tensing and relaxing at her whim, the way he felt in her mouth, against her tongue. Bog glanced down, reaching down with one hand to stroke her sheet covered head. Marianne grinned bobbing her head a little until his hand dropped away weakly, accompanied by a loud groan. 

Bog groaned and pleaded. “Marianne you must stop...” 

Marianne flung the sheet back while leaning forward to kiss the tip of his erection, then the bones of his hips, which stuck out noticeably on his lean frame, before she climbed up to straddle him. He released the pillow to reach up and caress her, his long callused fingers brushing down her slim torso, then back up to stroke along her jaw. 

“I love you,” he whispered. He said those three words with such heartfelt power that Marianne could feel the words. She smiled, catching one of his hands and kissing the tips of his fingers. “I love you,” she whispered back. 

Marianne ran her hands over his chest, careful of his bandaged wounds. He looked so fragile, his dark hair a mess around his head, his skin pale from their battle just hours earlier. He looked so vulnerable, and the look of love in his eyes... 

“I love you too Bog,” she breathed again just before she lowered herself onto his erection. They shared a moan of pleasure as their bodies came together, becoming one, then Marianne dropped forward to wrap her arms around his head. Her kisses were slow and patient as she took her time to enjoy the feel of his lips, the texture of his tongue against her own, while her hips moved in a snake-like agile dance of rolling thrusts and gentle bouncing. 

Bog stroked his hands down her back, amazed at the smoothness of her skin, the silk of her against him until his hands lowered to her rear, which he grabbed in his long fingered hands, holding and squeezing while she moved, their lips never once releasing the other from their long, tender kiss. 

Marianne only stopped kissing Bog when she felt herself racing closer to her climax. She let out a long moan, arching her body to gasp for breath. Bog watched her with amazement. She was more beautiful...more wondrous than any magic he had ever seen. Then he felt her orgasm around him; her body tightened around him as her fingers squeezed his chest muscles. He hissed, his hips arching to meet hers while he gazed at her in wonderment. 

Marianne rolled with her orgasm, pressing herself down hard on Bog, continuing to move her hips in waves. Bog groaned, his eyes half-closed, but he continued to watch her. She smiled down at him before dropping forward to wrap her arms around him again, her hands in his hair, stroking her fingers through his thick locks, kissing him while she ground down on him. Bog shuddered and jerked up, his climax accompanied with a long gasping breath that Marianne captured with her lips. 

They continued to move together more slowly riding the ebb and flows of their pleasure. Bog held her tightly against his body, rubbing his nose against hers, nipping softly at her lips. 

Marianne giggled, her voice soft and deep, her passion melting into a warm glow of happiness. “Think you can get back to sleep now? We have an hour before we really need to be up.” 

Bog smiled stroking his fingertips up and down her spine. “If you hold me Marianne, yes, I could fall back to sleep.” 

She smiled rubbing her nose against his long and sharp one. “I will protect you Bog.” 

He smiled and squeezed her tightly with a whispered, “Thank you my princess.” 

She laid down, their bodies staying connected. Bog closed his eyes. He should meditate, take a few days to center himself again after what he had done to that...monster. He could feel that darkness in him, coiled, waiting for another chance to take over. It was like an addiction, that power he had. Bog squeezed his eyes shut...he had to control it...not just for himself, but also for Marianne. He squeezed his arms around her. Perhaps he was being selfish. He smirked at himself. Of course he was being selfish. He should let her go...he didn't deserve happiness...not...because...he trembled slightly and Marianne smiled against his chest reaching down to pull the sheets up around them. 

He swallowed and held onto her hoping he didn't fall further into the hole in the middle of his soul. 

* 

Later they were downstairs in the inn as Duncan, dressed for the day and Mary, dressed in a simple tunic with an apron around her waist, came out with large bundles of food and ceramic jars of wine. Clad in a somber colored robe of grey, Bog shook his head. “This is far too much. We really can't accept...” 

Duncan threw up a hand. “I'm sorry Master Bog, but I really must insist.” 

Marianne, who was standing next to Bog dressed for the morning ride in a pale lavender tunic with breeches underneath, her hand on the small of the tall wizard's back, smiled. “We are forever grateful.” 

Duncan shook his head. “No, no Im the one who is grateful for the two of you. I will not accept a no, sir—you must take this food and wine or you'll be insulting me.” Bog frowned, narrowing his eyes. He could tell by the look in Duncan's eyes that the man wasn't serious, but by saying it out loud where others could hear he had put Bog in a bind. He had to accept the gift. The tall wizard sighed. “Fine,” he relented. “Thank you.” He bowed his head to the innkeepers. 

Duncan smiled brightly, his arm around his wife's shoulders. “Thank you, thank you both. You gave me my world back.” 

* 

Within the hour Bog and Marianne were back on the path, except now they were headed in a different direction. They rode side by side, their horses trotting at an easy pace. Marianne looked up to see the sky was a stormy grey, but she thought that it was beautiful. The air smelled heavily of rain that had yet to fall. She glanced sideways at Bog. He was riding a little stiffly, clearly preoccupied, his mind somewhere else. She studied his profile, the lines around his mouth, the furrowed brow. She had to wonder what secrets he had; she knew he had them, dark secrets that he carried close to him. She could sense it, but she knew he would tell her in time. All she wanted to do was reach out and stroke those lines away, to ease his heart and his mind. She sighed, glancing down the road. 

“So who is this witch we are going to see?” Marianne asked as she watched a handful of quail burst from a bush by the path and race across to disappear into the woods on the other side. 

“Her name is Pruna and she lives deep in the woods.” Bog said. “She has a cottage there. Likes to live alone...mostly.” 

“How do you know her?” Marianne asked. She felt a slight spike of jealousy that she quickly squashed. 

Bog frowned slightly, then explained simply, “She's my aunt.” 

“Your aunt? Your aunt is a witch?” Marianne asked in shock. 

Bog chuckled turning to face her. “Aye. She is. On my father's side. I suppose I was doomed to be gifted with magic. She is a bit of a...whiffle-whaffle...trying to keep her on topic is difficult and she is very powerful. Too powerful really.” Bog said this with a slight frown and then shook his head. “But she is kind-hearted and she'll be able to help us with the magic items we need.” 

Marianne smiled. “I've never heard the term...what did you call her...whiffle-whaffle?” The petite woman giggled. 

Bog grinned, the sight of which had Marianne squirming in her saddle. His smile...those crooked teeth...his eyes...sent her heart tumbling over the edge falling just a little more deeply in love. 

“It's an old term my mother used to use. It means someone who is indecisive, but in Pruna's case it means someone who isn't very good about staying on topic...and she speaks quickly. Sometimes it is rather hard to follow her words or to get her to focus.” He chuckled lightly. Marianne found his chuckle and the look on his face endearing. 

Marianne giggled. “Sounds a little like my grandmother. Wonderful old lady, but she could be a handful.” 

Bog smiled. “They probably would have gotten along then.” 

Marianne nodded with a grin. “Most likely.” 

Bog looked down at the reins in his hands before he spoke again. “I should warn you...she is going to be...inquisitive about you. About us. She has been after me for years—like my mother—to find someone. If she...when she realizes...” Bog sighed, clearly embarrassed and frustrated; his hold on the reins tightened. Marianne smiled leaning over to cover one of his hands with gentle fingers. He looked over at her and turned his hand to wrap his fingers around hers. His expression was a soft smile that lit his blue eyes, which in turn made her heart skip a beat. 

“Then we will just tell her the truth. That we are together,” Marianne said. 

Bog looked at her. His body language, tense, and his blue eyes were filled with such pain and uncertainty despite the physical pleasure they had shared together, the intimate exchanges of “I love you.” He was still waiting for it all to be a lie. Her heart broke for him, this powerful wizard, who had closed himself off from everyone, but had opened himself up to her and was waiting for her to break his heart. Well, it was never going to happen, she swore to herself. 

Marianne tugged his hand, while pulled Bog toward her, leaning across the space between the horses. She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. She opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss while the horses walked at a steady pace. She felt Bog's hand squeeze hers as they kissed, holding her hand protectively in his own. 

When they finally pulled apart Bog was blushing. His eyes twinkled as he said softly. “She is going to be quite surprised.” 

Marianne giggled with a firm nod. “Good.” 

* 

By mid-afternoon, a light drizzle had begun to fall. It was light enough that the rain didn't make traveling hard, the road only damp instead of muddy—so far. But after traveling in the light rain for hours, even with her cloak on and the hood pulled up, Marianne felt as if the rain had soaked through to her bones. She started to imagine a warm fire, a tent and something hot to drink and Bog's arms around her. That image was the only thing making her travel bearable, knowing at the end she would get that. Bog, hot drink, fire, tent. She kept reciting those words to herself each time she shivered. 

Bog rode beside her, his hood up casting the tall lean figure beside her in shadows, looking for all the world like a grim reaper on horse back roaming the countryside for victims. If he was as cold and miserable as her, he didn't show it. 

They rode quietly when Bog murmured. “I think we might make camp early.” 

Marianne sighed in relief, her whole body sagging. “That sounds like a good idea.” 

Bog started to say something else when they both heard the sound of a scream over the sound of the rain beginning to fall heavier. Bog turned to look at Marianne, his blue eyes framed in concern, then without a word spoken, the two of them kicked their horses into a run. 

* 

The woman screamed again as one of the brigands threw her down into the rain damp road. 

“Shut up wench!” The man hit her across the face, backhanding the woman hard enough that he knocked her out while bloodying her lip. That sent the two brats squawking. The man had no liking for children; if it were up to him he have killed the little brats, but as it was the others of their dirty little group would have a fit. So he snarled at the children instead. “Shut up you brats or I'll cut yer mother's throat!” 

The two children whimpered while holding onto each other. The woman's husband lay in the road bleeding from an arrow to the shoulder and another to the back. None of the brigands were clear if the man was alive—not that they cared—they were here for any gold this family might have and their team of horses which would fetch good coin in town. 

There were six brigands, all armed with crude swords; nothing fine, mostly rusted blades and old weapons in need of repair. The small group of travelers they had set upon, were only a tiny family, a woman, her two young children and the father pulling a cart with a couple of old horses and all their belongs. 

Two of the bandits were in the cart going through the family's meager possessions, tossing out clothing, children toys, and anything else that didn't look to be worth much while taking any finer clothes, jewelry, metal, anything that might fetch some coin. One of the men was untying the horses while another walked over to the unconscious woman and kicked her. When she didn't respond, he grinned and yanked up her dress while he started to unbutton his trousers. 

One of the brigands, a gruff looking man in desperate need of a bath snarled. “If'n yer going to do that Ulric, take her off the road. The rest of us ain't interested!” Ulric grinned. “Bunch of women, that's what yer are Josef.” Ulric grabbed the unconscious woman by the ankle and started to drag her off the road...Josef spat. “Nah the rest of us just like'm conscious!” 

Ulric laughed. “I don't like getting punched.” 

Josef and a few of the other men laughed at that, ignoring Ulric and the unconscious woman. 

* 

Marianne and Bog came up over the slight rise in the road. Down below it was instantly clear what was happening...a robbery. 

Marianne gasped in shock her eyes going wide. “Bog, what should we...” 

But when she looked over at Bog, what she saw frightened her. It was as if a shadow had come over him, dulling his features, casting him in a darkness that was not entirely natural. 

“Bog?” Marianne whispered his name. 

Bog kicked his horse Aoibhneas into a gallop heading straight for the group of robbers. Marianne nickered at Bruna and the horse quickly took off after Aoibhneas and Bog. 

* 

Bog could feel that darkness in him, that dark part of himself that he had thrown away. To see an innocent family attacked and hurt like this...he could hear the cries of the children...and that man. He knew exactly what was about to happen to that poor defenseless woman unless he did something about it...unless he stopped it! All eyes turned toward the dark man on the dark horse. For a moment all the men saw was a grim reaper before them, his sharp featured face mostly obscured in the shadows of the cowl he wore. The horse reared, kicking its feet to the air before coming down with a splash in front to them. 

The man on the horse threw back the cowl to show...just a man. 

The robbers all pulled their weapons. 

“Get back! This ain't your problem.” One of the brigands, a tall skinny man named Gavin brandished his rusted sword. “You go on and nothing will happen to you.” Bog snarled. He threw his hand out, magic leaping to his call and shot out from Bog's outstretched hand. Gavin was thrown hard and fast by a wave of concussive force, his body smashing against the side of the cart with enough force that the wood cracked, as did Gavin. The children screamed as the other men began to shout. Bog ignored them; instead he turned his attention toward the rapist. The man name Ulric, who had stood unmoving, one hand around the woman's ankle, the other hand holding up his pants while he stared in shock, dropped his pants while he fumbled for his sword... 

Marianne saw what Bog had done to one of the bandits, the man laid crushed on the ground, his back and neck bent at unnatural angles. She dropped off her horse, dashing for the children, but her attention was drawn to Bog; she couldn't look away as he threw his hand out again, his long fingers held in a claw like shape and for just a moment, Marianne would have sworn that she saw his fingers transform into actual claws as if Bog were about to tear something from the man. 

Bog hissed, his voice low, deep and threatening. “Your sort don't deserve to live...you will never hurt another family.” 

The man named Ulric choked. “It...it was just a bit of fun...” 

Marianne felt the magic gather around Bog. It was as if she had fallen into a pond of icy water, breaking through its oily surface to the cold murky water below. The magic was different than anything Bog had summoned to him before. She saw it, the shadows that seemed to form out of the darkness around them, twirling like living creatures around his arm, weaving through his fingers like shadowy black serpents. Those shadows shot out from Bog's hand to strike the rapist in the chest. The man let out a scream of pain, a sound so horrible that Marianne's hands flew up to cover her ears. Then Bog, his teeth bared in a snarl, yanked his arm back, closing his hand at the same time. 

Marianne stared in fascinated horror as the man began to scream in a way that she had only heard once in her life...when the butcher at the castle had been forced to slaughter some sick pigs one winter. Their cries had been terrible...but this...this was so much worse. 

She kept staring, unable to look away as the man's skin around his face and chest began to pull tight, as if something was trying to escape the prison of flesh. The man's skin pulled until it tore, blood dripping down, running a harsh bright red against the man's dirty flesh, the brown of his clothing and the pale grey of the landscape, the rain mixed with the blood and the gurgling screams of the man. Marianne hadn't noticed that it had begun to rain yet harder. 

The man's skull began to rip through his skin, exposing the bloodied bone beneath, his clothing tore, bursting bright with the red of his blood to be followed by the white of his breast bone. The man had stopped making any sounds, though the body shook with the magic. But then, just as suddenly as the spell began, the magic whipped away from the corpse, dropping the now dead man to the muddy ground and racing back toward Bog 

Marianne turned to him and gasped. “Bog!” 

Bog's only answer was a snarl of rage mixed with pain. Her eyes shot from the man, whose bones Bog had started to rip from his body, just in time to see that the spell had a wicked balance to extract on the caster. The arm that Bog had throw out, the arm from which the black magic coiled and twisted around him, darkened, the shadows thicker and black as if they had become a semi-solid force. They tightened around Bog's arm and in an instant, before Marianne could even fully understand what was happening, the magic snapped his forearm forcing Bog's hand upward at an unnatural angle as the shadows broke his forearm in two. 

Bog didn't cry out, he simply dropped to his knees with a groan of pain, his arm dropping to his side. Marianne rushed over to him trying not to look at the man that Bog had killed. She didn't notice the brigands, now fleeing in terror into the wood, the woman groaning back to consciousness, or the children hiding their faces...she only saw Bog. 

Marianne dropped to her knees beside him. He was pale, shadows under his eyes as he whispered, 

“There is always a price for magic like that Marianne...always,” before he passed out.


	15. Setting it Right

The rain began to beat down heavily, turning the road into a thick muddy swamp. She could hear the quiet sobbing of the children as Marianne helped Bog to stand up, draping his uninjured arm over her shoulders and lifting him to his feet, though his greater height made it difficult. She guided him over to his horse, easing out from under his arm to lean him against the patient animal. Bog wrapped his good arm around the horse’s neck, leaning his head against his mount’s neck as well. His broken arm looked terrible; it was already swelling and taking on a slight reddish purple color. He held the arm against his stomach while he held onto Aoibhneas’s neck. The horse remained perfectly still as if it sensed his master’s pain and wanted to help. Marianne’s horse moved closer to the wizard lending her support to Bog as well. 

Marianne hissed. “Bog, we need to set that arm.” 

Bog shook his head. “No, we need to help this family first.” 

He closed his eyes on a ripple of pain before he spoke again. “Go and check on the mother, those children need their mother and check the father too…I think, he might still be alive yet,” Bog’s voice was strained, his face pale, white. He added a whispered, “I hope.” 

Even with the heavier rain she could see he had started to sweat. 

She opened her mouth to protest that his arm needed setting first, but Bog gave her a pleading look. She pressed her lips together. “At least come over to the cart and sit down before you fall down.” 

Bog nodded. The fact that he didn’t argue with her was not lost on Marianne. Aoibhneas almost seemed to understand her and started to moved toward the cart, guiding Bog along with him as the horse slowly walked in the direction of the car, with her horse walking along on the other side of Bog as if the two animals were protecting Bog. Marianne frowned in concern, but she led the way over to the cart with both their horses. The family’s team of horses neighed and pawed at the muddy ground nervously, but as their horses came closer, Aoibhneas snorted and the team of animals seemed to quiet. Marianne lifted a brow. If she didn’t know better, she would swear their horses were communicating with the other horses. Marianne helped Bog to sit on the end of the cart which she could see contained the belongings of this small family. She hopped onto the cart and hurried over to the children who were cuddled together crying softly. They were wearing simple peasant clothing, nothing fancy but it was clear even in the rain that the clothing was handmade with care. The children were well-fed and healthy; Marianne was certain that their parents loved them. They both looked up at Marianne with wide eyes, but only slightly frightened gazes. 

Marianne smiled gently, crouching in front of them. She ran a hand through her wet hair as the rain began to come down harder forcing her to speak louder than she would have liked to the little children who had just been through so much. 

“I’m going to check on your mother, can you watch my friend for me?” Marianne asked glancing back toward Bog. She hoped giving the children something to do would help them focus on something other than their fear. The children, a little girl of ten and a little boy of maybe six, stared at her. Then the little girl, her long brown hair sticking to her face murmured. “He hurt those men.” 

Marianne frowned and nodded. “He did.” 

The little girl’s smile was vicious as she hissed. “Good.” 

Marianne nodded grim faced, but reached out and cupped the little girl’s face. “Are you all right?” 

She nodded. “My name is Ava, this is my little brother Robin.” 

Marianne smiled. “Nice to meet you both. My name is Marianne and that man over there is called Bog.” 

The little boy nodded gravely, his brown eyes wide and serious as he whispered, “I want to be like him when I grow up.” 

Marianne smiled softly then stood up. “I’m going to see to your parents. You stay right here with my friend Bog all right?” 

Both children nodded. 

“What are your parents’ names? Do you know them?” Marianne asked glancing over at Bog who was leaning heavily against the side of the cart. 

“Our mother is Heloise and our father is Godwin,” Ava told her with a serious tone. 

Marianne smiled and nodded at the girl. “Thank you Ava. I’ll be right back.” 

Marianne hurried off of the cart, her hand brushing Bog’s leg when she jumped down. She glanced over at him and he gave her a weak smile before she rushed over to the mother first. The woman was making small fearful noises as she started to regain consciousness. Marianne dropped down beside her. She could see that the woman’s lip had been split and there was a nasty bruise forming under her right eye, but other than those wounds she seemed relatively unharmed, at least physically. Marianne lifted the woman’s head onto her lap just as the woman opened her eyes. “Heloise? Are you all right?” Marianne spoke loudly, clearly, but without shouting as she held the woman in her arms. Heloise blinked several times before she finally opened her eyes fully. The woman was pretty in a plain sort of way, her face having the clear and honest look around her that made her attractive. Marianne could see that Ava looked a great deal like her mother. As soon as Heloise opened her hazel eyes she sat up. “My children!” 

Marianne helped Heloise stand, though the woman wobbled a bit. “Your children are unharmed,” Marianne assured the other woman with a soft smile. “They are in the cart by my…” For a moment Marianne was at a loss as to what to call Bog; her lover? Her friend? Her teacher? She settled. “My friend. He is the one that saved you.” Heloise blinked back tears and whispered hoarsely. “Thank you, thank you both.” 

The young mother choked on a sob of relief, pressing her lips together to prevent herself from crying, knowing her children were safe, but then she looked at Marianne with confusion. “Who are you? What happened? GODWIN!!” Heloise saw her husband lying in the muck, bleeding and pushed herself away from Marianna to rush to her husband. 

Marianne quickly followed dropping down beside the man named Godwin. 

The man made a soft groan and Marianne sighed in relief. He was alive. As she checked over the man she could now see that his wounds weren’t fatal, but they did need to be taken care of and soon. 

Marianne looked over at Heloise. “Should we remove the arrows?” 

Heloise shook her head. “No, let me check them, make sure they’re not lodged in a bone or an organ.” 

Marianne nodded and watched as the young wife checked her husband’s wounds. It was clear Heloise knew what she was doing as she inspected both wounds and sighed in relief. “Neither is lodged in bone. I just need to enlarge the wounds to get the arrow heads out.” 

“Are you a healer?” Marianne asked as the woman searched her husband’s body and came up with a small knife. 

Heloise nodded her head. “A little...yes. Though I have a lot of experience from dealing with a house full of reckless brothers growing up. You would not believe how many times they shot each other by accident with a bow and arrow.” Heloise smiled, but Marianne could see the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. Marianne reached out and gently touched the other woman’s hand. “Just tell me what to do to help.” 

Heloise smiled. “Thank you.” 

* 

Together the two women worked to remove the arrows and bind the wounds with some strips of blanket from the cart (Marianne had run back to the cart to grab the blanket while Bog was still leaning against the side of the cart, though the children had shifted closer to him) that Heloise cut into bandages. By the time they were finished, Godwin had his eyes open. He looked weak, but he stared at his wife, smiling lovingly at her through the whole process of binding his wounds. At one point, he reached up to gently touch his wife’s swollen lip, clear pain in his eyes. She only kissed his fingertips while she worked. Marianne smiled softly, watching the two of them. They were clearly in love. Marianne glanced over to the cart. She couldn’t see Bog, but her heart ached knowing he was suffering and there was little she could do to relieve his pain. 

Heloise let out a sigh when she was finished. “There, I think that should do it. Let’s get you back to the cart.” 

Godwin nodded. “Thank you Mamour.” 

Heloise blushed standing up. “Come on you big boboyne.” 

Together both women helped Godwin to stand, each putting an arm around their shoulder. He did his best not to lean heavily on them but he was weak. Heloise snorted in annoyance at her husband. “Godwin, I swear I gave birth to two of your children, I can handle helping you to the wagon--so stop it and let us help.” 

Godwin blushed despite his weakened state and murmured. “Yes ma’am.” 

Heloise turned to Marianne. “Can you tell us what happened?” 

The rain had begun to ease, crawling back to a wet, grey dribble just as Marianne told them how Bog had saved them (leaving out the most graphic details, though when they saw the bodies they would realize) as they came around the side of the cart with Godwin. 

When they arrived Ava and Robin where sitting close with Bog; the two children seemed protective of the wounded wizard. 

Bog was quite pale, dark circles under his eyes. His swollen arm was held against his stomach and Marianne could see he was shivering, but he had moved to sit in the middle of the cart with his back against the wood side panel. The cart’s contents had been shifted about to make more room for him to sit closer to the children. Both Ava and Robin sat close to the wizard, their eyes on his face with rapt attention. 

Sitting next him, Ava’s arms were wrapped around his good arm as she looked up at Bog, her eyes filled with admiration and the beginnings of first love; the little boy Robin was sitting in front of Bog, his knees touching the tall man’s as they both sat cross-legged, facing each other. It was obvious how much pain Bog was in, yet his voice remained smooth, calm as he spoke to the two children who now sat close to him, their attention on Bog a mix of hero worship and determination to take every word Bog said to them to heart. 

“You have to study very hard, but I think you could be a wizard Robin, you and your sister both. I can feel the magic in you both.” He smiled weakly. “It is only a little flame, but with hard work I don’t see why you both couldn’t be mages someday. Two very gifted children.” 

Ava was blushing. “You really think so Master Bog?” 

Bog chuckled. “Just Bog and yes I do, Ava.” 

Ava smiled hugging Bog’s arm while Robin leaned forward. “I want to be just like you Master Bog.” 

Bog chuckled. “Just Bog, please, and you don’t want to be like me Robin. You want to be like you...little Robin Baker.” 

They all turned when they saw Marianne and the children’s parents step around the cart. Robin jumped up and threw himself out of the cart, his mother barely having time to let go of her husband and catch the little boy. Ava didn’t move, her arms still around Bog’s, but she leaned around Bog and smiled brightly. “Mama! Daddy!” 

Heloise gasped when she saw the state of Bog’s arm. “Spirits above! We need to set that right away!” 

Marianne smiled. “Bog, this is Heloise and Godwin.” 

Godwin, who was being yanked into the cart by his son, nodded to Bog. “Thank you for saving us. Your lady told us what happened.” 

Bog glanced at Marianne who smiled at him. Heloise nodded. “You are a hero Master Mage.” 

Bog shook his head. “No, no...I did what anyone would have done.” 

Godwin eased himself down to sit across from Bog and shook his head weakly. “If only that were true. No, you sir are a hero.” 

Heloise eased up onto the cart glancing up at Bog, then at his broken arm. “May I?” 

Bog nodded. Heloise gently lifted the limb. Bog made a sound in the back of his throat, going paler when she touched the broken limb, but he didn’t jerk away. Heloise frowned, her fingers gently proving the arm, assessing. 

“We need to set this now. It's not going to be pleasant,” she warned him. 

Bog nodded. “I...understand.” 

Heloise looked toward her daughter. She smiled at the way the little girl refused to let go of Bog’s other arm. “Ava, my little clover, go and find my sack. I think I saw it in the mud by the front wheels where one of those men dropped it.” 

Ava nodded hurrying off the cart to find her mother's bag. Heloise smiled. “I have a few herbs that might help with the pain, maybe.” 

Bog nodded his understanding. “Are you a hedgewitch?” he asked and Heloise smiled with a blush across her cheeks. “I am. How did you know?” 

Bog smiled weakly. “Your children. I can feel magic clinging to them.” 

She smiled and nodded. “Yes…” She glanced at Marianne. “I didn’t want to say anything...just...I know hedge witches are not always welcome…” She sighed. “Hedge witches run in my family. We were heading toward Dunvegan. My aunt has just passed and I was asked to take her place at the hedge.” 

Bog smiled. “I only know very minor healing spells. Always respected your calling.” 

Heloise smiled with an embarrassed bob of her head. “Thank you Mast…” 

Bog chuckled weakly. “Tut...Bog...please, just called me Bog.” 

Heloise smiled. “Bog.” 

Ava came scrambling back with a heavy leather pouch in her hands. The pouch was covered in mud as she clambered back onto the cart. “Some of your things were spilled in the mud, Mama and some of the glass vials were broken.” She handed the bag to her mother who sighed sadly as she look inside the bag. She rummaged around, finally withdrawing a small bundle. She unrolled it to reveal a small crystal vial which Bog knew had to have cost her a great deal, and which meant what was inside was valuable. Heloise sighed in relief. “This is my own mixture, a bit of thyme, a little arnica and a few other things. It should help with some of the pain.” 

Bog nodded. Heloise looked to her daughter who had taken her place again at Bog’s side. “Little clover, let Lady Marianne have her man’s arm for this, hm?” 

Ava stuck her lip out, but she looked between Marianne and Bog then smiled. “All right Mama.” 

She moved and as Marianne came over to take her place, she whispered. “Thank you Ava.” 

Ava grinned and blushed. 

Bog gazed at Marianne with a weak smile. She leaned up on her knees and pressed her mouth to his kissing him sweetly, reaching up at the same time to cup his cheek before she sat down beside him. 

“Very well, open your mouth and stick out your tongue Ma...I mean...Bog.” Heloise smiled. 

“Hold on a moment!” Marianne held up her hand, then rising up on her knees again she grabbed Bog’s face tenderly between her hands. They stared at one another for a moment, becoming lost in each others eyes. Bog smiled at her, the small wrinkles that formed around his blue eyes when he smiled tugged at her heart. She loved him, deeply loved this man she thought just before she kissed him again, but this time with more passion. She slid her tongue into his mouth, her fingers going into his hair. Bog reached up and wrapped his good arm around her waist. They kissed as if they were completely alone, as if Bog wasn’t in any pain, as if her kiss was the only thing that was keeping him whole. Marianne leaned into him, covering his mouth with hers as if she could communicate her strength to him by the stroke of her tongue or the press of her lips. His teeth brushed against her tongue and Marianne groaned softly. But finally she had to sit back, she brushed her nose lightly against his, with one more press of her lips to his own before she sat down and nodded to Heloise to proceed. 

The hedgewitch smiled at the two of them, then turned to Bog. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” 

Bog did as she asked and she carefully placed two drops of the clear liquid on Bog’s tongue. She carefully, put the liquid away then turned to Marianne. “Hold on tight.” 

Marianne nodded and wrapped her arms around Bog’s middle while Heloise held Bog’s arm out. She motioned at Ava. “Come here and put your hands on his shoulder.” Ava hurried over, placing her small hands on Bog’s shoulders. Bog smiled at the little girl’s assistance. She had a firm grip, probably having done this with her mother before. Heloise held his arm counting under her breath, then slowly she began to manipulate Bog’s broken bone back into position. 

Bog grit his teeth, throwing his head back as the pain, despite the medicine, race radiated from his arm and through him. He let out a loud cry that was muffled by his clenched jaw, but then, as Heloise gave a hard and firm yank, Marianne was sure he was holding his tongue on a vivid curse--probably because of the children present--a little thing that just made her love him that much more. Bog let out a loud cry of pain then went limp. Marianne panicked letting go of him to grab his face. He had fallen heavily to the side. Marianne could hear Heloise giving her daughter instructions, but she only barely heard anything as she grabbed Bog’s face. “BOG!” 

She felt a tiny hand on her shoulder and turned to see Robin behind her. “Mama says he passed out, but he’s fine,” Robin told her in a tiny voice. 

Marianne turned looking at the family in panic, but Heloise was busy binding Bog’s arm and smiled at her. “It’s right again; the arm set fine and the medicine I gave him will keep him asleep for an hour or more. He’s all right. I promise.” 

Marianne sagged. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you, too.” Heloise smiled. “Where were the two of you headed?” she asked as she worked on Bog’s arm, wrapping it up tight. At one point, she had placed a strip of wood along his arms as a splint and was using the remains of the blanket she had used on her husband to bind up Bog’s arm good and snug. 

“We’re looking for a woman named Pruna.” Marianne sagged a little, easing Bog’s head onto her shoulder. 

Heloise smiled. “Truly? Pruna?” She laughed. “We can take you part of the way, allow Bog to rest.” 

Marianne looked surprised. “You know her?” 

Heloise shrugged. “Not exactly, but I have heard of her. Anyone who works in magic of any kind has I think.” 

Marianne frowned softly. “She’s his aunt.” 

Heloise stopped what she was doing to stare at Bog. “He’s related to Pruna?” 

Marianne nodded silently and Heloise turned around to look at her husband. 

Marianne frowned. “What is it?” 

Heloise shook her head. “It’s nothing...just...Pruna supposedly has this nephew, a vile wizard. Everyone...well...anyone in the magic fields I suppose...everyone has heard the stories of the...” Heloise stopped herself, her hands slowing in their work before she continued. “Anyway, he supposedly was born to the darker side of magic, a natural user to those darker forces. We’ve all heard the stories of things he did...awful things. But…” She looked up at Marianne then at Bog… “Maybe she had two nephews…” 

Marianne frowned easing Bog’s head down to her lap. Heloise helped her lay him out more comfortably before she turned to her husband. “Open your mouth, you’re sleeping too.” 

Godwin started to protest, but his wife put her hand up stopping him from protesting. Godwin sighed and opened his mouth. She pulled out the crystal vial and placed a drop on his tongue. She followed that with a kiss. 

“Will your horses be fine with being tied to the back of the wagon?” Heloise asked Marianne who was gazing down at Bog and stroking his face with her fingertips. 

She looked up and nodded. “I think so.” 

Heloise nodded. “Robin, Ava, go fetch Marianne’s horses and bring them around. I want to get going again...find some shelter before the rain picks up again.” Heloise and Ava clambered to the front of the cart while Robin climbed back into the cart after hooking up the horses to the back and sat beside his father. He smiled at Marianne, who noticed there was an adorable gap between the little boy’s front teeth. She smiled in return before returning her gaze to Bog, her fingers stroking through his black hair, leaning down to press her lips to his forehead as the cart rumbled a little as it started to turn, traveling down the muddy road. 

Marianne whispered brushing her nose against his. “I love you Bog. I love you.” 

* 

The sound of rain drummed a beat against the stone walls of the tower as Thang grinned brightly. He sat near the fireplace, dressed in loose pants and a simple shirt, his hair just recently cut short. He played his instrument, a psaltery that he had built himself which he had balanced in his arms. Roland tried not to smile, but the other man was playing a tune that he liked called “Lamento di Tristano, La Rotta.” He remembered hearing it in court one time when he was younger. He loved the tune though he would never tell anyone that, ever. But what made the performance by the firelight so much more beautiful was Lily. 

She smiled softly, dancing slowly to the music. To the accompaniment of the music, the steps she turned in were ancient, old before even his grandparents had lived. Roland always liked dancing, but his father forbade him from it--it wasn’t princely, the older man had claimed. Roland wanted to join her, but how could he admit that? His father had drummed it into him too well that Roland was above such things. 

Roland sat with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands watching Lily, as were Griselda and Stuff. The young woman moved slowly, holding the sides of her skirt in her hands, flowing and spinning slowly to the music, turning in a circle then swaying side to side, adding a few steps to the side. She looked beautiful, Roland thought for the tenth time since she had begun dancing, the light from the fire dancing in her hair. Roland just couldn’t take his eyes off of her. 

Thang finished playing and their little group clapped. Griselda laughed. “I didn’t know you were so talented Lily.” 

Lily blushed. “I’m not...stop!” She giggled. Roland felt his heart do a little flip at the sound of her giggle. 

Griselda glanced over at Roland. “She is talented, wouldn’t you agree Roland.” 

“Yes oh ye...I’m...I suppose, for a peasant.” Roland caught himself and muttered the rest of his response. 

Lily stuck her tongue out at Roland, who stuck his tongue out at her in return. Griselda sighed. “All right children. Thang, are you up for another tune?” 

Thang grinned happily blowing a kiss at his wife then nodded. “I would love to, but only if my love will join me with her voice.” 

Stuff giggled. “Fine, you ass.” 

He grinned brightly and started to play “A que por muy gran fremosura.” He played for a few moments before Stuff began to sing in her deep, yet soft voice. “A que por gran fremosura é chamada Fror das frores, mui mais lle praz quando loam seu nome que d'outras loores…” 

Griselda smiled at the song, then motioned at Roland. “Roland, come help me. I have some extra dessert to bring out.” 

Roland frowned, his eyes on Lily as he muttered. “I thought we already had dessert?” 

Griselda sighed. “I have a Frutowr and no one was ever hurt by an extra dessert. Come on...there should be a pitcher of mead too…” 

She reached out and flicked Roland’s ear to get his attention. Roland yelped and nearly fell off his stool jerking away from Griselda before he stood up with a grumble. 

“Stubborn old woman.” 

Griselda chuckled and headed toward the kitchen. 

* 

The kitchen still had the ghost of their dinner drifting in the air when they walked in. Griselda went over to the cabinet and motioned toward a row of ceramic pitchers along one shelf. “One of those should have the mead, just take a sniff.” 

Roland sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked over to the pitchers and started to sniff their contents. He had just found the mead when Griselda asked. “Why are you being such a little dalcop toward Lily? It’s clear you fancy her.” 

Roland looked insulted. “I don't fancy her! She’s a peasant!” 

Griselda sighed. “So? Why should that make a difference? You like her, why not see where that could go? She’s a pretty, strong-headed young woman. I think she would do you some good.” 

Roland’s mind drifted to thoughts of the hidden love potion and Marianne...and he found himself not so eager to use it on Marianne...not so eager to use it at all. Griselda continued. “Roland, you can change your future...change who you are. You don’t have to be that man...the one your father manipulated and molded for the crown.” (Only briefly did Roland wonder how she knew...the witch, but he found that he wasn’t as upset as he thought he should be...as he would have been…) 

Griselda continued looking at him in earnest. “You could have your own life...you could be happy...you could be in there dancing with a beautiful young woman who could be your partner…” 

Roland grinned, his face dissolving into that of an eager young man full of self-doubt instead of the cocky attitude and self assurance of an arse. “Do you think...you think she would dance with me?” Roland asked his voice low, full of doubt. 

Griselda smiled. “I do.” She motioned with her head. “Come along and let's find out.” 

* 

They returned to the little gathering. Thang was playing a new tune, this one called “Amoroso” another Roland knew well, a lovely tune that danced softly through the room. Roland’s appearication for the music was immediately replaced with his admiration for Lily. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Lily, dancing once more to the softs sounds of Thang’s playing. Griselda gave Roland a gentle nudge to get him moving again, then watched with satisfaction as the young man set the pitcher of mead down on the table and walked over to Lily. She turned around and stopped when she saw Roland standing there, watching at the fire light dancing across her features. He smiled at her, a genuine smile that lit up his face. He gave her a formal bow, then put his hand out to her. 

She looked down at his hand, then up to his face, her brow lifted in a quizzical frown, but then she gave Roland a coy smile and placed her hand in his hand. Roland smiled brightly, then, letting Lily lead him, the two of them began to dance as Thang plucked out a livelier tune allowing the two young people to dance with more energy. Lily laughed taking Roland’s other hand, the two young people dancing across the room while Thang played and Stuff and Griselda clapped their hands. 

The group was having such a nice time that Griselda didn’t hear the knock at the door first time until it became a loud hard BANG against the door of the tower. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare toward the sound. 

Griselda, who had taken a seat on one of the stools, frowned with vivid annoyance. “Now who in the world.” 

She headed off to the front entrance of the tower with Thang hurrying behind her (just in case.) Lily frowned then looked at Roland, her hands coming to lay on his chest. “You should go too...just in case.” 

Roland frowned, looking down at her then nodded. He took a moment to lay a hand over hers before he hurried off to follow Griselda. Something felt wrong about this. 

They arrived at the front door just as Griselda was about to open it. She glanced back at Thang and Roland, giving them a smile of appreciation, the sight of Roland also coming to protect her was not lost on Griselda. She reached forward with a soft mutter, a one word spell her son had given her toward unwarding the door and another word to bring the wards back up. She spoke the word of release then opened the door. Standing in front of her were three men, all of them identical, young, blond, but with hardened faces dressed in the colors of the Knight household. Roland’s eyes widened when he saw them as the one who acted as their spokesman said firmly. 

“We are here for Roland Knight.” 

* 

Not too far away something opened its eyes. The thing seemed to be made of shadows, shadows that swirled and twisted into a humanoid shape. It cocked its head to the side, feeling someone touch on the magic of its realm...someone familiar t it...Yes it knew that touch...the human wizard Bog King. It smiled at the memory; the only creature to ever best the shadow, though it knew it had cost the human greatly to banish all those years ago. And now it was back. A lesser mage had called it and it had easily devoured the buffoon...consumed their magic, their essence into itself. Now it was anchored in this world, but if Bog was close...that meant that it could seek revenge...to consume him, to take his power...but first it wanted to make him suffer for what he had done to it all those years ago.


	16. Restless Sleep

Bog found himself standing in a field. All around him everything was burning. Great fires burned toward the sky, filling the air with thick black smoke; cries of anguish rose above the fury of the fires, distant screams that were being brought to him on the breeze. 

His eyes widened in shock as he turned in a full circle… 

He knew this place. 

As he turned he saw the hunting lodge that had been his great uncle's...a vile man...a man who had tried to take advantage of a young Bog, to use him…who tried to use the darkness in the boy to his own advantage...Bog closed his eyes thinking to himself that he had let his uncle twist him and had willingly followed that evil path. Bog wrapped his arms around himself, but nothing he did could warm the chill in his body. It was a chill that came from his very soul...he was tainted by darkness and try as he might over the years to run away from the evil that was within him, he couldn’t. Further damning him, he had allowed himself to pull Marianne into his sphere. Why had he been so foolish? Bog shook his head opening his eyes which were filled with pain for the past he couldn’t banish and the future he should not be allowed to have. Locks of his dark hair fell forward across his forehead. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. It was much longer, falling well below his shoulders, the way he had worn his hair when he had been but a young man, long enough that he had often worn it braided down his back, with long, thick strands of black hair framing his face to keep his homely features in shadows. As his powers had grown he had pulled himself away from the public sphere more and more, away from his royal life to bury himself in books and his great uncle’s teachings. 

Bog looked down, frowning as he recognized even the clothing he wore; a tunic of silver and blue, the intricate decorations that twisted and turned into the symbol of his father’s house, a dragonfly across his chest, stylized dragonflies along the sleeves. These were the clothes he had worn the day he had lost control...the day he had killed so many people...so many lives lost because of his rage...his darkness...his lack of control. 

Bog shuddered. Part of him knew this wasn’t real. It was part dream, part memory mixed together in a confusing picture that wasn’t exactly true, nor exactly false...this wasn’t exactly what had happened...yet...yet it was. He looked down at his hands, yes...they were wrapped in bloody bandages...the blood required for the spell. No...it wasn’t this spell, this was the day he lost control...the blood was from the spell when he tried to take his life using magic only...it hadn’t worked...he burned it all, so much death at his hands he had tried to atone for. 

Bog simply didn’t know...couldn’t remember the exact chain of those events any more. His memories of that moment were cloudy…from his pain, from his absolute hatred of himself... 

Bog heard the sound of laughter and turned to see his great uncle walking slowly toward him. The man was tall, so slender he could be called skeletal and had the same blue eyes as his grand nephew. Though his uncle's eyes had had years to become hard, flat. The only emotion those eyes reflected were greed and absolute certainty of his own power. 

“My boy, you have performed beyond expectation!! I didn’t think that girl you thought you loved could hurt you so badly, but I suppose her rejection piled onto so much disgust from everyone else was the last thing you needed to finally come into your true power. If I had known, I would have hired her ages ago!” His uncle laughed...Bog remembered the way the sound would settle in his chest like a hard, cold stone. 

“Now, time to leave boy--time to be what you are meant to be...mine.” His uncle laughed. 

Bog’s memory of this moment was more obscure than any other memory of that time. He remembered crying, he had been in so much pain, felt such shame and isolation...he had been so alone in that moment, but he knew he didn’t want to be like his uncle and he had done the only thing he could think of...he had attacked… 

There was a scream… 

* 

Bog woke with a start. 

He looked around in confusion, starting to sit up, his entire body shaking with pain, fear. His arm throbbed where it laid against his torso. He had just pushed himself to a sitting position, knocking the blanket that had been covering him away, when he felt an arm tighten around his middle and gently tug him back down. 

“Shh...I’m here Bog.” 

Marianne...her voice… 

He settled back down, looking around still confused. A fire burned in the remains of the stone fireplace. The fire’s light provided a faint glow as he realized he was lying on the floor of an old, crumbling cabin. He could see Heloise; the hedgewitch was sleeping beside her husband Godwin, with Ava and Robin curled snuggling between their parents. 

Marianne murmured softly. “I put wards up, don’t worry.” 

He turned slightly to see her face illuminated by the fire's glow. The princess laid on her side facing him, her smile soft, tender. She reached up to touch his forehead with a frown. 

“Oh Bog, you’re still running a fever. Lie still, unless you need to relieve yourself. Heloise gave me some herbs to give you went you woke, for the fever and to help you go back to sleep.” Marianne sat up. 

Bog realized she was correct about the fever. He felt as if he were burning up. He reached out for her before she stood up. “Where are we?” he asked softly. 

“An old abandoned hunters’ cabin. We are going to stay here for a few days, until your fever breaks. Heloise and family are staying with us.” Marianne smiled. “She refuses to leave her patient and the children won’t leave you either.” Marianne stroked Bog’s hair back from his forehead with a tender smile, frowning at the heat radiating off of him. 

“Now just lie still Bog. I have to mix the herbs with some water.” Marianne stood and moved toward his feet, the fire’s light casting her in shadow. He heard her rustling around softly before she moved toward the fire. She had her back to him as she did something he couldn’t see, before returning to his side a few moments later holding a wood bowl containing something that smelled like elderflowers and cinnamon. Marianne sat down beside him on her knees and helped Bog to sit up as she carefully held the bowl to his lips. Bog glanced at her face. The fire’s light cast half her expression in shadows. Her brown eyes were dark, her small mouth set in a firm line that indicated while he wanted to protest that he could drink without help, she would not take any guff from him. So Bog held his tongue. No one had ever treated him with such care as Marianne was doing now...except his mother. 

Marianne held the bowl to his lips, making sure he drank every bit of the medicine in a firm, yet gentle way that made Bog fall in love with her just a little bit more. 

She smiled as she sat back on her haunches setting the bowl aside. “There. How are you feeling?” 

Bog sighed and laid back. The whole maneuver to drink the liquid had been exhausting. “Awful.” He chuckled softly. “Just feel so hot and my arm is throbbing.” 

“It's the fever. Heloise said you would have one for a few days. She told me not to worry, that it was a normal part of the healing process...but…” Marianne swallowed as her voice broke. She had been so worried for Bog. When the fever had started she had been almost hysterical with fear of losing him to an infection until Heloise had calmed her down. Marianne wasn’t sure what she would do if she lost Bog. She took a deep breath through her nose, pushed away those thoughts. She knew now that his body was healing and the fever--as long as she made him drink the herbs and paid attention--would pass and he would be alright. Marianne glanced down at her knees for a moment, taking one more steadying breath before she continued. 

“Here, let’s get your tunic off…” Marianne started to gather his tunic up, but Bog stopped her, reaching across his body to lay his good hand over hers. Marianne looked down at his hand, his long fingers, pale against her hand, graceful, powerful, tender. His hands were so expressive she thought. His hand laying over hers made her smile. 

Bog stuttered. “I...I don’t know if…” 

Marianne gave him a stern look. “Bog, don’t be silly. You won’t be naked, just topless.” 

Bog blushed. “I know, just…” 

Marianne narrowed her eyes just slightly and Bog removed his hand with a murmured, “Sorry.” 

Marianne smirked and carefully as she could, helped him remove his tunic. He did his best not to make any noise, but the movements caused him pain and by the time they were done he was pale and shaking. As her fingers brushed against Bog’s skin she could feel that his skin was warm to the touch. She frowned with worry as his face contorted with pain. She eased him out of the tunic, folding it carefully to place it at his feet after she laid him back down again. 

The whole ordeal of undressing made Bog weak with pain, and the fever which his body was battling sapped all his energy. 

“Do you need to go outside to relieve yourself?” Marianne asked with concern. 

Bog shook his head. “No...just...tired.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment. Marianne could see the furrow of his brow. She came around to his other side and curled against him. The heat radiating off of him was enough to make her sweat, but she wrapped an arm carefully around his middle as Bog lifted his good arm so she could curl into the crook and rest her head against his shoulder. 

They were both quiet for a few minutes. Marianne could feel the shift in his body when the medicine began to work. His muscles eased and his breathing, which had been more of a low pant before, became slower, steady. She gently stroked his chest, feeling the warm skin, the curve of muscle, her fingertips stroking over the sensitive nipples feeling the smooth flesh, smiling when Bog’s nipples hardened under her touch. 

Bog sighed contently. 

“Bog, what were you dreaming about?” Marianne asked softly. “You...you were crying in your sleep, but then you seemed...scared I guess. Your body was so tense.” Marianne spoke softly. 

Bog frowned, opened his eyes to stare at the darkness of the ceiling. There were places where the roof had large holes in it and he could see the sky beyond. The heavy cloud cover meant there was a good chance of rain later, or perhaps tomorrow, though there were patches in the sky where the stars shone through, trying desperately to shine their light down on the land below. 

“Just...the past,” Bog whispered, the fingers of his hand stroked her shoulder. They were both quiet and Marianne had thought that Bog had drifted to sleep when he spoke again. 

“You...you shouldn’t...be with me,” he said, hesitating over each word as if it hurt to say them. 

Marianne sat up on her elbow to frown down at him. “Why on earth not?” 

Bog’s frown turned into a scowl. The firelight cast his features in darkness, but somehow made the deep blue of his eyes that much more vibrant as if flickers of the firelight were captured in his eyes. “I’m a bad man Marianne...I’m worse that bad. I’m an evil man. That’s why I live the way I do...trying to keep myself apart as much as I can and why you shouldn’t be here with me...” 

Marianne started to make a rude sound, but stopped herself glancing over at the sleeping family. Instead she dropped her voice to an angry whisper. 

“Bog, don’t be ridiculous! Are you saying that because of the spell you used? You were saving someone's life! Those men, those were bad men. You are a good man Bog.” She smiled and cupped his face with her free hand. He still felt warm to the touch, but she could tell that his fever had been reduced by the medicine already--not gone but better.. 

Bog started to push himself up, but Marianne gently and firmly pushed him back down. Bog sighed with frustration as he continued. “No, you don’t understand Marianne. I’m...I’m evil. There’s a darkness in my heart and I’ve...I’ve done things…” Bog’s voice held a quiet desperation. 

Marianne leaned down and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly as she murmured. 

“I don’t believe that Bog. I don’t believe you’re a bad man at all. I think you just think you are.” Bog pressed his lips together, resisting the sweetness of her kiss, but when she reached up and stroked her fingers through his hair he gave in, weak for her touch, weak in his need for her, his love for her. He opened his mouth to her tongue that caressed his closed lips, pressing her close with his good arm around her shoulders. The kiss turned even more heated as Marianne’s hand ran down from his cheek, caressing his throat with her fingertips until her fingers moved across his chest. Marianne made a soft sound of need. She loved the way his tongue felt in her mouth as she pressed her body tighter against his long, lean form. Marianne wrapped her leg around his thigh and pressed against him with a quiet desperation while she kissed him with passion enough to burn hotter than his fever. 

Bog leaned toward her as his hand moved into her hair, her thigh pressed against his groin which immediately jump in response. He would have laughed if not for her tongue in his mouth and his desperate need for her, that even feeling as he did, his body responded to hers, his erection coming to life at the brush of her lips against his. Marianne brought her hand back up to his face, cradling his long, sharp jaw, feeling the hint of bristles starting to grow along his cheek and chin. 

“Bog, who you were in the past doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is the man you are now.” She punctuated her words with her lips, her tongue. “I love you Bog. I love this man, the one in front of me, not the man you were. This is the man who saved an innkeeper's wife, the man who saved a family on the road...” Marianne whispered passionately. “I want this man.” 

Bog wanted to say more, wanted to continue to try to warn her away from him. He didn’t deserve her love, he didn’t deserve her, this beautiful, kind, powerful princess, but he wanted her--he wanted her with his entire being. 

Marianne pulled away from him and stood up. Bog watched her as she slowly stripped out of her traveling clothes until she was completely naked. Her beauty took his breath away. The firelight danced across her skin, caressing her with light and shadows as she lowered herself back down to his side. 

“Marianne…” Bog started to speak, but she placed a finger to his lips. 

“Do you want me?” she asked simply. 

Bog swallowed, her finger still pressed to his lips, but he nodded. 

She smiled. “Are the herbs working? Is your pain reduced? Is your fever easing?” 

Bog once more nodded though he couldn’t keep the smile off of his lips as she kept her finger pressed against them. The fever was still there, but less noticeable--he didn’t feel as if he were burning up from the inside out and the pain was a dull throb instead of a burning ache. He felt better. 

Marianne smiled glancing over once at the family to make sure that they were still sleeping before she moved, easing Bog’s legs wider as she kneeled down between them. She smiled softly as Bog lifted his head to watch her. She plucked at the ties of his trousers, slowly pulling the ties loose. She didn’t pulled his trousers down at first. She laid her hands along either side of his quickly hardening erection and gently rubbed, her thumbs pressing down and up, stroking his scrotum through the cloth. 

Bog dropped his head back, pressing his upper teeth into his bottom lip trying to control the sound he made, but he couldn’t stop the low groan of pleasure when her thumbs moved over him. Despite the dull ache of his arm and the low grade fever, he wanted her desperately. 

Her thumbs stroked over him, gliding up, then traveled along his erection, her fingers pressing into his hips. Marianne watched him, the bob of his throat when he swallowed, the way his brow knitted with pleasure at her touch, his hips jerking up in response. 

She stopped touching him only so she could moved down his legs and lift one at a time, tugging off his boots. She carefully set them aside, trying not to make too much noise before she stood and started to pull his trousers down his legs. 

Bog pushed up onto his good elbow and lifted his hips to help her. Soon he was naked. He glanced nervously over to the family, but none of them had stirred. 

Marianne dropped herself back down to her knees, settled between his legs, and returned her hands to their previous position and began to rub again. 

Bog made a muffled groan. 

She smiled gazing down at his member. He really was beautiful she thought, not that she had experience in such matters (aside from reading some scandalous literature), but she was sure he was the most beautiful man in all the world as she leaned down and ran her tongue over him. 

Bog gasped, arching at the warm, wetness of her tongue. When she touched his sensitive member with her tongue she sent a cascade of sensations through his body that chased away all other concerns. He forced himself upon his good elbow again to look down at her. She glanced up at him in that moment, a smile on her lips, the fire’s dancing flames caught in the depths of her dark eyes. Bog pressed his lips together on a moan of pleasure. 

Marianne kissed him, kissed his erection like she was kissing his mouth; her lips and tongue caressed him softly. She took her time to explore him with her tongue. She wrapped a hand around his shaft, feeling that warm, silky skinned hardness of him in her hand. She loved the way he felt, so hard yet so very smooth. She pressed her lips to the head of his shaft, tasting a hint of sticky saltiness. She smiled when she felt Bog shudder. Marianne wrapped her lips around him once more and, taking her time, slid her tongue slowly back and forth as she lowered her mouth down on him, her tongue wetting his member as she took him into her mouth, then slowly, pressed her lips down on him. Then she pulled back up. 

Bog whimpered, his fingers dug into the blanket that laid beneath him while the fingers of his broken arm spasmed (which sent little jolts of pain up his damaged arm), but he didn’t care. The pain was distant, completely overshadowed by Marianne and her mouth. She looked so beautiful, lowering her mouth down on him, glancing up with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sucked hard on him. Bog squeezed his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip hard enough he was surprised he didn’t draw blood. The pull on his groin was delicious, the ripples of sensation drove him to the edge of madness, all of it combining to make him want her even more. 

She rolled her tongue over him, sucked and caressed. She liked the way he felt in her mouth, the sweet satin, the smooth sensitive surface of his erection. Part of her wanted to continue to do this until he climaxed, until she could taste his essence in her mouth, but she had to admit, she was a little selfish. She wanted to feel him inside her. Her groin ached with the need to be filled with him. 

She bobbed her head a few more times, coating him with her saliva, taking him as far into her mouth as she could, smiling when she felt him jerk, the sounds of his muffled moans vibrated through his body. She rolled her tongue over him--followed by quick glances at the sleeping family to make certain they still slept soundly--before she released Bog and climbed on top of him. 

Bog struggled to catch his breath. He swallowed watching her as she straddled him with a smile. 

“I love you,” Marianne whispered and leaned down to kiss him passionately at the same time she reached between them to hold him in position before she lowered herself down on his erection. 

Together they both moaned though their sounds were muffled against their lips as Marianne kissed him quickly trying to make sure that they didn’t wake Heloise, Godwin and their children, and that she didn’t touch his broken arm. 

Bog reached up with his good hand, sliding his fingers along her hip biting his bottom lip to stifle the sounds he wanted to make. Feeling that warmth, the liquid pleasure of her body wrapped around him was almost too much. He had to fight not to climax and not to make a sound. He slid his hand up her torso, his long fingers brushed along her breast, feeling the rosy tip of her nipple. He used the tip of his middle finger to roll over her nipple, which earned him a shuddering gasp from Marianne. 

Marianne sat up and arched her back, biting her bottom lip as the warm feeling of having him filling, stretching her, nearly sent her over the edge. He felt so good, so right as if his shaft were touching every part of her. She pressed her hands against his stomach, doing her best not to touch his broken arm as she started to move her body. It only took her a moment to find a rolling rhythm of her hips, mixed with small bounces as she raised herself up and lowered herself down. She squeezed him tight with her inner muscles. 

Bog bent his legs slightly, letting his legs fall wide. Marianne took advantage of this and leaned back, placing her hands on his thighs and began to move with earnest need. 

Bog’s eyes rolled with pleasure, watching her, the light bounce of her tiny breasts, the way the fire light caressed her torso, sliding down her stomach, catching the glistening wetness of his member when she would slide up, then catching a glimpse of himself disappearing into her again. 

Bog whimpered, trying desperately not to make a sound, but Marianne’s body against and around him felt so good. He groaned, arching his entire body. He felt dizzy, lightheaded with the intensity of their lovemaking. 

Marianne couldn’t hold back her orgasm. The beautiful sensation of peaking rippled over her and pulled a loud gasp from her before she could stop herself. Her entire back arched with the sensual explosion of pleasure. She kept moving, harder, faster, her orgasm swiftly followed by another. 

Bog hissed. Marianne’s fingers dug into his thighs and he felt the burst of wetness from her coating him as she continued to thrust and bounce until Bog groaned, only at the last second thinking clearly enough to stop himself from simply yelling in pleasure as he released inside her. 

That was when they both heard one of the children make a little sound, and shift position. 

Bog, his eyes widened in panic as he grabbed Marianne by her upper arm and tugged her down. He almost yelped in pain when his tug caused her to bump his broken arm. Marianne swiftly changed her position putting her weight on his unhurt side and they both waited to see if they had been caught. There wasn’t a lot they could do if anyone woke up as the shadows only partially hid their naked bodies. 

Bog and Marianne watched the family for a few heartbeats, but it was clear that one of the children hadn’t actually woken up and had only shifted position in their sleep. Bog laughed silently. Marianne could feel his body jump under her with his stifled laugh. Marianne giggled too, burying her face against his neck. He stroked his fingers along her naked back. 

Marianne smiled and kissed his chin before she carefully parted from him; both of them made little noises of protest when their bodies separated. 

Marianne moved around, found some water and a rag so that she could clean herself, then (though he protested until she glared him down) she cleaned the sticky mess of their love making away and curled up beside him again. She pulled the rough blanket up over their naked bodies as she laid her head on his shoulder. 

She smiled, sleepy. “That was nice.” 

Bog leaned his head against hers. “Yes, though I would say in my wizardly opinion, it was more than nice.” 

She giggled softly. 

Bog smiled. He liked the way her naked body felt against his, the way she smelled, the scent of their love making, the rhythm of her breathing. He took a deep breath through his nose, let it out slowly, made himself relax. 

Marianne, with her eyes closed ,started to sing very softly, her voice no more than a whisper. 

’’Ille Dhuinn, ’S Toigh Leam Thu 

’Ille dhuinn, ’s toigh leam thu, 

’S toigh leam fhìn thu, laochain; 

Mas toigh leat mi, is toigh leam thu ‑ 

’S gur òg a thug mi gaol dhut. 

Dh’fhalbh mi mar a b’ àbhaist dhomh 

Air sàillibh coimhead chaorach ‑ 

’S beag a bha dhem fhor orra, 

’S mo leannan air a’ chaolas.” 

He smiled. The song was an old one about a young woman being in love with a poor boy while her parents wanted her to marry a wealthy man; but she loved the young, brown haired man. He smiled sadly as he listened to Marianne’s song turn into a low murmur, then slowly fade as her voice drifted away. He glanced down as best he could to see that she had fallen asleep. 

He held her tightly, a slight frown creeping over his features. 

* 

Roland hadn’t slept at all that night. He didn’t know what to do. His father had sent the triplets for him!! He still couldn’t quite believe that his father had done that! He laid on his side on his cot in the kitchen with his arms wrapped around himself while chewing on his bottom lip as he tried to figure out something--anything so that he didn’t have to go back! Roland squeezed his eyes close as a wave of despair rolled over him. Just when he was starting to feel happy, to feel free, as if perhaps he had a chance at something different...they had shown up and the fear of his father and the despair he felt at how his life was locked into a course he no longer wished to follow, all came pouring back onto him. 

The three brothers, Gilbert, Hugh and Ralf Soames, the triplets, had been his best friends once, but over the last few years, because of his father, Roland had little to do with them. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it; he missed having them as friends. The four of them would get into all sorts of trouble when they were children, and even more as adolescents, but the last few years his father had been sending the Soames triplets off on “missions” that he never told Roland about…now his only three friends in the world were strangers to him. 

Roland suspected his father’s “missions” for the brothers had more to do with isolating Roland so that his father could mold him into what he wanted, but Roland didn’t know how loyal they were to his father. He wasn’t sure if he could reason with them or even talk to them. Might he still have any influence over them...were they still friends? 

He rolled over again, putting his back to the interior of the kitchen. Sleep just would not come. 

He stared at the stones of the wall, watching as a tiny spider slowly emerged from between two bricks and started to climb the wall when he heard movement behind him. 

Roland frowned. It must still be too early for breakfast he thought as he turned and was surprised to see Lily standing in the kitchen. 

She was barefoot, dressed in her long, ankle length sleeping gown of soft grey. Her hair, that looked like spun silk to Roland, was braided and hung over both her shoulders as she stood in the kitchen, her hands folded in front of her. 

Roland sat up frowning. “Is something wrong?” 

“I just...I couldn't sleep. I thought I might make some tea. Would you like some?” she asked softly. 

Roland smiled. “Actually I would, very much.” 

Lily smiled and walked over to the kitchen’s large fireplace. A fire still burned in the middle of the firebox, though the flame was small, barely a flame at all atop a few glowing embers. Roland watched as she worked to feed the tiny flame and bring it back to health. The light from the fire made her gown clear and Roland could see her figure, dark, but still...she was shapely he thought. The thought immediately had the young man blushing and Roland quickly turned away. Lily, once satisfied with the fire, made her way around the kitchen to where the everyday earthen mugs hung on pegs and pulled two down to set them on the table. 

“Can I help?” Roland asked as he rose to his feet. 

Lily smiled as she stepped over to pick up a pitcher of water that sat covered on a shelf. She placed it on the table with the mugs before she made her way toward a dark corner of the kitchen to pick up something he couldn’t see. “Yes, there is a jar of dried chamomile flowers on the shelf over there.” 

She pointed across the kitchen to a row of tiny jars that he could just make out in the dim light. Roland walked over, wrinkling his nose as he inspected the jars until he saw one with a chamomile flower carved into its surface. He picked it up; the jar felt light in his hands. He lifted the tiny clay lid to look inside as he walked back over to Lily who had another jar on the table, and inside he saw dried flowers. He wrinkled his nose and set the jar down next to the young woman. She poured water into the two mugs she had brought over a moment ago. He frowned stepping close to her to look into the jar she had next to her. 

Lily giggled softly. “Don’t worry, it's only a little lemon balm.” 

Roland smiled at her and pulled one of the stools over for her and another for him. He leaned on his elbows watching her as she mixed the herbs in mugs, then poured water over them. 

“I can see about heating the water if you want your tea hot, but it will take longer,” Lily said glancing sideways at him. 

Roland smiled. “This is fine.” 

She nodded and pushed one of the mugs over to him. He picked it up and sniffed. The liquid inside smelled strongly of earth and herbs, with a slight citrus air. He took a sip and made a face. 

Lily laughed. “I suppose you don’t drink a lot of tea?” 

Roland shook his head. “No. My father says a man drinks ale.” 

Lily sipped her tea. “Your father says a lot of things doesn’t he?” 

Roland frowned sipping his tea again. “Yes, I suppose he does.” 

They were both quiet for a little bit, sipping their tea when Lily finally asked softly. “Are you leaving with them?” 

Roland, who had been staring at the wood grain of the table, looked up at her. “I...I don’t know.” 

Lily pressed her lips together looking down at the contents of her mug. “I...I actually…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to go.” 

Roland frowned, blinked and looked confused. “Really?” 

Lily sipped her drink and without looking at him muttered. “You’re pig headed, annoying, and sometimes you’re a crooked nose knave...but...you’re becoming less of a fopdoodle and I would like you to stay...if you can.” 

Roland found himself not at all insulted. In fact, he found himself staring at her, his cheeks turning red. 

Roland pressed his lips together nervously, twisting his mug around between his hands. “Lily?” 

She turned to look at him. “Yes?” 

“If...if you want me to stay, then I...I would like to stay,” he said softly with a little nod. 

Lily smiled sweetly. “I would like you to stay Roland Knight.” 

Roland shifted closer to her. He reached out, hesitating for a moment until Lily leaned closer, a gentle smile on her lips encouraging him to touch her face. He swallowed and reached out to brush the tips of his fingers along her jaw. Roland leaned into her and Lily leaned closer. 

He stared into her eyes, suddenly stuck, unsure what he should do when Lily murmured breathlessly. 

“Kiss me you idiot.” 

Roland blinked in surprise but Lily grabbed his face with both her hands and pressed her mouth to his lips. 

Roland didn’t move for a heartbeat before he very slowly slid off his stool just as Lily did the same and wrapped their arms around each other.


End file.
